Killer & Mother
by Alfsigesey
Summary: Nothing will ever be easy again. Escaping from Terminus. Defeating an unholy horde of walkers. Finding food, for sobbing out loud. But none of that will be as difficult as falling in love and actually trying to build a life together in the midst of all of it. (Bethyl, and from Beth's POV, takes place after Alone, through post season 4 finale)
1. Snatch

**This fic was for fun, and to get me through the first few soul-crushing weeks of the Summer hiatus. That having been said, it does get dark. If you're not into that, best stop now. In fact I'll go so far as to do this…**

**Warning – Violence. I don't usually do a warning for violence, especially not for Walking Dead—I mean, come on, what show are you guys watching?! But I think in this case… it might be a good idea, so, this is your warning that this story is violent. Bad things happen to characters you love. **

**I cobbled the plot and themes together using theories and speculations about season five that I deemed ****_'interesting, but not likely'_****. Since I don't think we'd see them on the show in October, I put them together in a way that I thought they ****_could_**** be pulled off, if so desired by the excellent TWD writers. I'm most definitely not one of them, but I did have a lot of fun playing with their characters.**

**Also, I'm a hard-core Bethyl fangirl, so this is Bethyl and is in fact mostly Beth's POV. Enjoy:)**

* * *

"Oh."

In the kitchen of an old funeral home on the edge of a cemetery, Beth and Daryl shared a stolen meal. They were just beginning their conversation; an important one.

At first glance, it would look like Daryl was hiding behind his hair. But Beth was in the perfect position to see precisely the way his blue eyes found her through his long, unruly fringe. What would he do if she reached out to push his hair back to see him better?

He'd probably let her. She realized and it made her throat tighten.

Then again, she wasn't sure she needed a better look at him, even folded in three layers of clothing, smudges of dirt and greasy hair she could read him like a billboard.

The cans they'd set up to warn them of approaching threats rattled. The sound of dog barking and whining came from the front door.

"I'm gonna give that mutt one more chance," Daryl stood up from the table, and took a hold of the jar of pig's feet. He unscrewed the top to fish out a few soggy pieces.

On the back of his leather vest he had a pair of stitched angel's wings that her eye followed until he disappeared into the front room of the mortuary. They were both wearing their boots, had their gear close. Daryl wore his jacket and vest while Beth had a warm sweater on. They were always ready to bolt at a moment's notice; they had to be ready.

The stray dog had come to their borrowed porch earlier. Daryl tried to coax it inside, but it ran off.

Two things struck her as she was left alone in the kitchen, staring at the space where his angel-wings had hovered for a split second. The first was that it seemed like Daryl was relieved that they'd been interrupted before she made him answer the question she had asked him, and the second was that _this_ was exactly how she'd come to know what sort of a man he was; she'd learned to read him.

He didn't talk about his thoughts or feelings much; in fact he shared basically nothing unless she pried like the jaws-of-life… or there was that time she got him drunk.

But, she knew him.

In this apocalyptic mess, Daryl was a survivor, and in a lot of ways he was more comfortable with the new world disorder than anyone else she'd ever known. He understood kill or be killed, he knew how to take care of himself without modern convenience, and he had exactly zero qualms about invading or stealing other people's property, and did so frequently, without apology.

At the same time, he was still the kind of man who shared his precious, limited food-supply with animals (at least with the ones he wasn't hunting), if that didn't give Beth the right sort of picture of his character, nothing would.

_"BETH! Beth!_" With his shouts, she heard snarling and a sudden chorus of familiar, bone-chilling moans. The dog had been followed.

_Shit. Shit!_ Immediately, she heaved Daryl's crossbow up and ran to the front room.

Sure enough when she hobbled as quickly as she could into the front room it was to find Daryl struggling to barricade the door with his whole body; rotting hands jutted out from the frame. The dead had found them. She tossed him his crossbow.

Catching it deftly, he whirled around and let the door give, "Run!" he drew back and fired a bolt, "Run!"

Already, she was scrambling away from the fight, ignoring her twisted ankle for the moment. If she didn't do as he said, she'd be walker food.

She could hear him running through the house, drawing the walkers off, "Beth, pry open a window! Get your shit!" he ordered.

A sinking feeling was born in the space between her heartbeats. "I'm not gonna leave you!" she called back to him. _No. No. No._ This felt wrong. She wanted to do something, anything else. She wanted to help him, not leave him.

"Go out. Go up the road! I'll meet you there." Over a dozen walkers had barreled into the house after him.

Screaming inside, she took the opportunity to bolt. Her heart thudded and seemed to repeat _'no, no, no' _to the steady beat.

It was the only way they would both survive. It made good logical sense. Beth was hurt and wasn't a strong fighter like Daryl, especially not against so many walkers at once. If she stuck around for the melee, then Daryl would have to waste all his energy protecting her. If she ran for it, he could concentrate on saving himself. He'd given her an opening; he'd ordered her to take it. She did as he said, even though she had a bad feeling about it.

_I'll see you up the road._

"Go!"

A walker appeared on the lawn, reeling towards her. "This way!" it shouted and suddenly time came to an abrupt, unnerving halt. Walkers didn't speak. He wasn't dead. His flesh wasn't falling off of him; in fact the man looked young and healthy. He was trying to usher her to a car.

In the space of two heavy, stumbling footsteps she determined that this man wasn't dead, but all the same, she didn't like the way he'd appeared so suddenly or the way he looked at her like he was ready to pounce if she didn't do what he said.

She turned to run from him, just the way she would have run from any other threat. Her injured ankle made her too slow. He grabbed her from behind and hit her hard in the head.

Her bag spilled into the grass behind them. Discombobulated and still panicked she thought she heard a car door slam and Daryl calling her name. An engine came to life and tires squealed as her body was rocked forward. She realized that she was lying in the back seat of a car, though she wasn't sure how she got there.

_"Beth! BETH!"_ Daryl's voice was getting further away, "BETH!"

* * *

**I always like to end with a song from my Bethyl playlist.**

**Hold On - Tom Waits**


	2. Brady

A flytrap; that's what it was.

What did Terminus want with flies?

Daryl noticed right away that the funeral home was clean and tended to. It had everything that a person might need, so why was it empty? Why weren't the people who had spick n' spanned it still around? In her head, Beth remembered vaguely that she had actually come up with some kind of explanation; maybe they needed medicine and had to leave. She was fairly certain that Daryl had come up with a far more practical theory: they're dead.

Even so, he suggested they leave some of the food. It almost made it more meaningful; an offering to the dead, a sign of respect. It made her smile inside and out.

She had the whole car-ride to Terminus to work out the truth. That food and shelter they'd encountered wasn't a stash. It was bait. The whole house was a trap; it smelled and looked so good and now she was stuck, limbs all bent out of shape and sticky.

Everything was a bit of a blur for the few minutes right after she took that bad blow to the head.

Brady snatched her. She remembered yelling out to Daryl, she thought she could remember him calling her name. When she asked Brady about it, he kept insisting that the figure approaching the car wasn't alive. It was a walker. It didn't talk.

_He_ was Daryl. He called her name. She repeated the protest over and over, until Brady finally gagged her.

"If you thought that looked like your friend, then I guess he turned." Brady had a smooth, perfectly even voice that always responded immediately to everything that she said. He had a quick answer. He was too hasty; everything he said was rehearsed.

Once she couldn't speak anymore, he talked enough to make up two sides of a conversation, easy. "Listen, Beth? That's your name ain't it?"

He only knew her name because he'd heard Daryl call out to her. Beth glared at him from the backseat. Her hands were duct-taped to the headrest of the shotgun seat. He'd done that after she lunged for the wheel.

"You're concussed and confused. That mortuary where I found you is one of _my_ safe houses. I drove up just in time to see the place overrun. You were limping—you're ankle is hurt pretty badly. You tripped and smacked your head hard on the ground. You weren't going to be able to outrun them. I saved you. That's all that happened. You need to calm down." Brady was a young guy, clear-faced and with pale eyes that didn't ever leave the road. He drummed his fingers casually against the wheel. He'd tied her up so expertly that she had the very uneasy impression that he had experience restraining people… or injured girls, at least.

They were following the signs to Terminus. The road eventually split, but rather than taking a paved path, he'd turned onto the railroad tracks. The bumpy ride was a bit worse than driving over regular gravel. She hoped his tires wouldn't be able to take it.

"I'm sorry about your friend," he said in that same dispassionate voice, "It's a real shame, this world we live in," like a line he'd said a thousand times because he heard it once and hated it, but knew that it would sound so smooth dripping off his tongue. "There's no way you're going to be able to survive on your own, Beth. None of us are. We need each other. That's what Terminus is about. We need people. I leave, on occasion, staying at my safe-houses and I look for survivors, to bring them back to Terminus. The more people we have, the stronger we are. Doesn't that make sense to you?"

It didn't matter that it made sense. It was as if the word LIAR was scrawled across Brady's chiseled face. The mortuary wasn't a safe-house, it was a flytrap. He'd seen Daryl and he'd left him there. If he'd taken both of them, maybe she could believe him.

If he'd left her, they would be together right now, just up the road, and they would be fine; Daryl could protect them both. That's why she always did what he said. Well, almost always.

Terminus might think they needed people, that much could be true, but precisely what they needed them for, she had to speculate. Taking someone into your group by force was a bad way to start any relationship. A lot had changed in the world, but kidnapping was still, at best, a real dick-move.

She couldn't be really afraid yet, there was too much anger burning behind her eyes. Every time Brady spoke it feed that crackling fire. She hated his voice, hated his practiced, cold rationalization. She chewed on the gag and watched him through the rearview mirror. The fear didn't really start to take hold in her until he stopped talking. In the silence she felt fear settle in. As long as she'd been conscious, his toneless voice had inflicted itself on her. Now he was quiet. His jaw was clenched; a vein throbbed in his cheek.

Daryl wouldn't be able to track the car. He would try to find her, but how was he supposed to know which road they took? It was too fast and they'd already gone so far. She was going to have to get out of this on her own.

The car slowed to a rocky stop and Brady got out and walked around to her door. "Bathroom break?" his almost smile was far from comforting. He sliced the tape off her wrists with a large pocket-knife, took a step back and motioned for her to come out.

Pulling the gag from her mouth, she looked around for a weapon or something that might be useful. She'd killed walkers; killing a living person couldn't be that different. He was larger and stronger than her and he had a weapon. He wasn't mindless, like a walker, either. With her ankle messed up, she couldn't hope to outrun him.

She limped towards the bushes, and without glancing back she could tell that Brady was staying close. His shadow stretched over her shoulder, the sound of his boots against the scattered rocks seemed to be bound to the same infuriating, nearly hypnotic cadence of his voice. She slipped around the back of the shrub he'd guided her towards and crouched.

Turning three-quarters of his body back to the road, he still watched her in the corner of his eye; it was as much privacy as he trusted her with.

She ought to do something—this might be her only opportunity to get away from him. Thinking about it only made the ringing in her head louder. All she wanted to do was cry. She didn't know how to deal with this guy. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to think what Maggie would do.

What would Maggie say? "What do you need me for?" She asked as she buttoned her jeans and limped back around the shrub.

Still not really looking up, he tossed her a bottle of water.

She caught it. She'd seen him drink from it earlier. Still feeling uneasy, she took a sip and waited.

"I told you," he shrugged. "We need people."

She wanted to figure him out. Maggie always kept a cool head. She would be able to talk to him and look him in the eye without crying. Carol would too. Michonne probably would have killed him already. But they weren't here. It was just Beth. "Yeah, I get that. People need people." She said, voice shaking. She needed to think like one of them right now. Once she got her breathing under control it was a little easier. In her best impression of Maggie she said, "That's real smart. Why do you need _me_? You don't know me. You don't know that I got any use."

"Sure you got use," he drawled, "We'll find something for you."

"So, that's how it works?" He voice softened and for a moment she wondered if she'd misinterpreted this situation somehow. Maybe Brady and his people weren't so different from hers. "It's like a little community and everybody has a job to do?"

"Sure thing. It's what makes sense, isn't it?"

_What makes sense?_ He said that a lot. It irked her, but she tried not to let it show. Nothing made sense anymore. There were no rules. People survived, or they didn't.

Everything else was just to stall. It was games, war games and chasing games and hide and seek.

"I had a place," she took a longer drink, picturing the prison in her mind as she hadn't allowed herself to do in a while. It had felt so safe; a fortress from the horror outside. For a while, she'd fooled herself into believing that they could have something like normal life inside those fences.

"What was your job there?" he didn't sound like he was really interested, in fact he reminded her briefly of before the world ended, when she'd go on dates with sixteen and seventeen year old boys, who asked a lot of questions, but clearly didn't care to hear her responses.

All the same, she decided to give him an honest answer, if only to force herself to say it out-loud. "I looked after a baby-girl. Her mother died. I took care of Judith."

When the prison was attacked, Beth tried to find Judith. That was why the bus left her behind. Beth got off to look for the baby, and the other children. She'd never found any of them. Instead, Daryl found her and got her out. Just one of many times he'd saved her life.

Most days, she tried not to think about what had most likely happened to the kids… to that sweet baby. She was slipping. She tried to think again about the others, about what they said to people they didn't know if they could trust yet, "We used to ask questions before we'd let others join our group. We didn't trust just _anybody._"

His perfectly still face cracked a little as a smirk fought its way out. Her cheeks burned because she thought she knew what he was thinking. He heard the way she talked about the prison and he knew that she'd loved it there and that it was gone. He was laughing at her because his group was still around and hers wasn't. "Well, you seem harmless enough," he pointed out with another lazy shrug.

"I wanna ask you these questions."

"Can't promise I'll answer, so long as I don't know 'em," Brady held up his hands, as if in submission, but the effect was somewhat marred by the fact that he still had a couple of fingers curled around the hilt of his knife.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

Brady let out a bark of laughter, "You _count_? What kind of group is this? Hell, I don't know. More than a hundred but less than one-fifty, I'd say."

"How many people have you killed?"

At that, Brady's face became still again. His voice took on the even, disconnected tone that she'd first come to associate with him. "Now that one I can't tell you. But I can't laugh about it either. It's a serious thing. Like your group knew, some people can't be trusted. I'm not going to lie and say I've never shed living blood."

"Why?"

"Everyone has a job to do, like you said, but some people think they're job is hurting my people and I cannot abide that. I kill to protect my own and I'm not ashamed of it. If you were a part of my group, I'd kill to protect you too."

He always knew exactly what to say. It sounded reasonable enough, all of it. Still, she couldn't trust him; couldn't bring herself to even look at those cold, unblinking eyes without hating him. The physical revulsion was enough to twist her stomach. She lobbed the water bottle back at him. "I won't be a part of Terminus. Just leave me here. I won't be useful to you. I don't care how cherry your set-up is. I ain't goin'."

At first his face stayed placid; he didn't react to her, didn't show surprise or even the exasperation that she'd been expecting. He just stared at her, lips gradually twisting. "You'll die."

"That's _my_ choice. I'm sure you know it's one that a lot of people make." She moved the leather cords and bracelets down her arm so he could see the old scars. "It's a choice I came close to once. You say Daryl's dead?" she didn't believe it, but pantomimed, allowing herself to imagine the possibility and bring a little moisture to her eyes, "Then, I'm done," she mirrored Brady's lifeless tone. "He was the last person I cared about. The last one I had left." It was partially true, so this lie rolled easily off her tongue.

She still held out hope that some of the others had gotten away. Michonne was probably alive. Last she'd seen of Rick, he was already hurt pretty bad, but the man was a survivor, like Daryl, he could have gotten away in time. Carl might have made it. Sasha and Tyrese had spent a long time practically all on their own in the wilderness. Glenn was fast and smart. Maggie was tough. She would be alive, somewhere. "I won't go through any of it again. Just leave me here. I ain't gonna be a part of any new group. I had my people. They're gone now."

With his usual disinterest Brady glanced at her wrist, knitting his brows together a second too late for the expression of empathy to look sincere.

"What makes you think you'll have any choice in the matter?" robotic, he watched her for a reaction without a hint of expression, false or otherwise.

She'd been afraid of that. The mask was coming off, she couldn't look away.

"Some of those cowards you're talking about—the ones who decided to check out early, they said this was our _extinction_. They're wrong. This is just the next major event in human history. It changes things, a little," he nearly smiled, but didn't pause long enough to give in to the urge, "Everyone has a job to do, but there are really only two important jobs left. So, what's it going to be? Killer or mother? You don't look like much of a killer to me."

Her own façade was starting to break down, but with this new revelation she thought that maybe she didn't care. She didn't want to break in front of him. What would Maggie do? She'd stay strong. "So, what you're really sayin' is that you snatched me 'cause I'm a fine piece of ass?"

For a single flicker of his eyes Brady looked furious, then his face wore the first real grin she'd seen on his yet. "Yeah," he admitted, "That's about the shape of it."

And he'd left Daryl, because they didn't need any more killers. They had plenty of those.

Knowing it was useless, she started to stumble backwards, willing her ankle to miraculously heal, or maybe she could scare up enough adrenalin to make a break for it.

He looked like he was laughing at her on the inside, "Now, come on, it doesn't have to be like that."

A new idea came to her like a smack to her forehead. She tried to keep her expression the same, not wanting Brady to take note of any light-bulbs suddenly floating above her head. "What do you mean? How's it gonna to be any other way? I get gang-raped till I got a baby in me. That's what you're sayin', ain't it? Your group is taking it upon themselves to repopulate the earth?"

"Now, that's just ugliness, right there, Beth. There's no reason to be harsh. We're _good_ to our mothers." He took a wandering couple of paces towards her, eyes wary, expecting her to bolt. "We keep them well-feed, protected, bathed—coats all glossy. How long has it been since you didn't have to worry about any of that stuff? That walker that came after the car—the one you thought was your friend? Daryl? I tell you, that sumbitch I saw was a _ragged_ animal, a good deal older than you and well, kinda looked like he was coarse 'afore the world went all to hell… You mean to tell me that unwashed hick had himself a pretty little thing like you and wasn't abusing the privilege of your company?"

"It wasn't like that," Beth tried not to let too much venom into her response. She didn't like the way he talked about Daryl. "He's my friend. He just keeps me safe 'cause he's a good man." _Not because he's expecting some perverse favor._

She bit back the urge to go on and tell him that she'd been doing just fine with Daryl, thanks. Sure, they'd been living rough, but she couldn't say she didn't feel safe with him, and get exactly what she needed, when she needed it. Swallowing all vicious remarks she watched Brady stroll closer to her.

"…You got walls?" she forced a little softness into her voice.

"Lots of walls. Fences too."

"Food?"

He smiled in a strange way. She wasn't sure she could fully appreciate what was funny, "Sure we've got food, dollface."

"I just… makes me nervous, is all," she took a cautious step towards him. The space between them was closing steadily now.

"What makes you nervous?" he still wore his unnerving grin.

"I never been with a man," she cringed inwardly at her own soppy tone.

"How old are you, doll?"

"Almost nineteen."

"Seems about time, don't you think?"

"Yeah… maybe," she bit down on her lower lip.

_Holy shit, he's buyin' this crock_. The satisfied glint in Brady's eye was infuriating. Taking her head in his hands he leaned in, "Good. Girl." he said, his typically level voice going mild.

She leaned into his hand, looked into his eyes and then caught his lips with her mouth. Her hands went straight to his waist, while his slid down her neck and onto her chest. His mouth was clamped down firmly on hers, his tongue invasive. He bit her lip and she resisted the urge to wriggle away. Her right hand found the lump in his pocket.

A split second later he realized what she was doing, but it was too late. At the same moment that she tugged the car-keys out of his pocket she swung her good leg forward and kicked him as hard as she could in the crotch.

The force of the blow, along with putting her weight on her injured ankle had her colliding into the dirt, but he was down too. She got up and scrambled as quickly as she could back to the car, while he was rolling onto all fours, eerily silent.

She sprinted to the driver's side, but he recovered a lot faster than she'd anticipated—and now he was mad. Mere feet away from the door, he caught her by her hair, twisting his clenched fist up to her scalp he slammed her hard into the car, pinning her from behind. The wind was knocked out of her and she'd hit the top of the car hard with her jaw. Pain shot through her chest and skull, she tried to breathe in but he pressed her so tightly against the car that she couldn't get the space to open her lungs. He snatched the keys from her hand, and stepped back just enough to open the door.

She gasped for air and the sharp pain grew worse—he'd cracked some of her ribs, she was sure. Still holding onto her hair he tugged her as he leaned down and pulled the level to pop the trunk.

He dragged her around to the back of the car. "You're going to wish you'd gone along with it when you had the chance," he promised her before he bodily forced her inside the trunk. A few strands of blonde hair were wrapped around his fingers. He slammed the lid shut.

* * *

**The Storm – Elenowen**


	3. Welcome to Terminus

Forgiveness, as Carol understood it, didn't mean a complete restoration of trust.

Tyreese forgave her, but did he trust her? Could he?

She saw it in his eyes sometimes. He wasn't there yet, but he was climbing that mountain, one step at a time. He tried to understand her. He wanted to know her, because, at least unconsciously, he knew that understanding her could be just as good as trusting her. Carol had known a lot of different men; few of them ever made such an effort, and none of them as vocally as Tyreese.

"I see why you do the things that you do," he mused as they walked along the road towards Terminus, and possible salvation.

"What do you see?"

They kept their eyes on their surroundings, never looking at one another unless it was when the other was being vigilant. It had actually gone a little bit of the way towards repairing Carol's broken belief in a divine plan; out of everyone at the prison, Tyreese was the last person she would have chosen as her companion, but the universe knew something that neither of them had picked up on; they had a similar rhythm.

Some people couldn't function together. It was like they were slightly out of phase from one another, never quite able to mesh, always stepping on each other's toes. She and Tyreese automatically adjusted around one another. She stepped forward, he stepped back, she looked right, he checked left. They didn't have to discuss much. They moved around one another smoothly. It wasn't compromise; it wasn't anything that required effort on either side. They were simply wired to work together.

"I can't begin to try and imagine that I might understand everything that you've gone through. The end of the world was a little different, for everyone, I think." He paused after this thought, listening, either for some approaching threat, or for Carol, but she didn't interrupt. "I heard some things. Your husband. Your daughter. I know you walked straight through hell. You got no more fear, and I think that's why you can do things that need to be done, even when it's horrible. Even when it should frighten you, it doesn't. You already had all your worst fears come true, didn't you?"

Tyreese wasn't much for small-talk. Carol let herself glance at him out of the corner of her eye before she turned her gaze back to the road. Nope. It was all big talk with Tyreese, not that she minded.

"There's just… nothing else that this world can throw at you, is there? You've already gone fist-a-cuffs with all of it."

Reaching into her pack for her water bottle, Carol stopped walking. She took a sip and offered it to Tyreese, finally looking at his big brown eyes; free of judgment. Even when he was angry, she'd noticed that he couldn't quite manage a commending gaze.

Then again, she'd seen him when he found Karen and David's bodies.

Her work, though he hadn't known it at the time.

His wrath was terrifying. She'd been sure that if he'd known she was the one who killed them he would beat her to death in ten seconds flat; long before she ever got the chance to explain.

At the same time… once he did understand, he was as Zen as could ever be expected.

He wasn't going to throw her sins back at her, no matter how much they'd hurt him personally.

It was like something inside of him knew that there was more to the story than he would ever know. He respected other people; their pain and their wants, but he could still kill them. She wanted to understand him too, but he wasn't a type of person she was familiar with. Few genuinely nice people could also manage to be killers.

It was her turn to talk. He was looking at her expectantly.

She leaned down to kiss Judith, strapped onto the front of him, fast asleep, wearing a little hood to protect her face from the sun. "There's a kind of _peace_, I guess," Carol shook her head, not liking the word, but unable to think of a better one, "A kind of peace…" maybe it was the only word, "…that comes with being truly beaten. I used to think of it as a survivor's high. When you face a moment where you think it's all over, when you're absolutely _sure_ you're going to die, and then the moment passes and you're still alive, sometimes there's this feeling. Relief. I used to get it in small doses, now I feel it almost constantly," she'd never said it out-loud before. Few people took the time to draw much truth out of Carol and she didn't offer it up.

Tyreese regarded her pensively, his eyes searching her, like he could see more secrets.

A scream pierced the air, and rumbling below it, familiar growls and snarls.

Before she could say anything to stop him, Tyreese tore off. Carol followed after him, drawing her gun and swallowing every protest. He was a nice man. Nice men had to be heroes sometimes; she couldn't stop him.

Barely a hundred feet into the trees they came upon the scene; too late for a young man who was still twitching even as three walkers pulled his intestines out in gruesome handfuls. A fourth walker had a girl treed. All Carol saw of her was tennis shoes perched on a branch about ten feet up. The girl screamed as she watched the walkers tear into her dead companion.

With his hammer, Tyreese made short work of the three walkers eating the boy, then for good measure he destroyed the boy's brain too.

Carol took out the walker who had treed the girl. It was particularly tall, with long, lanky limbs so she had to leap in order to get the momentum needed to shove her knife into its head. Even after all the walkers were dead, the girl kept screaming. "Quiet, you'll bring more of them!" Carol climbed off the tall walker and pulling her knife free.

The girl's screamed dissolved into sobbing, but at least she was trying to be quiet.

With a sigh, Carol dusted herself off and finally looked up. She hadn't known that there was anything left unbroken in her, but a fracture ran its course all through her heart the moment she saw the girl. She was mid-teens, with skinny, long limbs, pigeon-toed feet, shoulder-length sandy brown hair and eyes that looked like they were made for crying. She looked like Carol at fifteen, or how her daughter Sophia might look now, if she'd lived.

"Come on, I'll help you down, sweetie," Tyreese took his place below her. He handed Judith over to Carol and held up his arms to the treed teenager.

Shaking, but with rare belief in her saviors, the girl dropped into Tyreese's arms and immediately buried her face in his muscular chest to cry.

Turning away, Carol let her wail. _I can't do this again. _She wrapped her arms around Judith. The baby was wide awake, her little clothes spattered with droplets of walker blood. They were lucky she wasn't too much of a fusser. It was like something in the infant knew that silence was essential to her survival.

She walked over to the boy to get a better look at him. His face had held together fairly well, in spite of Tyreese's hammer. He had the girl's same sad eyes and pubescent lips. Her older brother; probably not much older.

While Tyreese tried to soothe the girl, Carol took care of the bodies. Before they returned to the road, Carol could already guess the situation well enough, but on the way back, Tyreese gave her the run-down. "She and her family had a shelter, but they didn't have enough food. Both the parents were sick, cancer. They died and turned—the brother put them down, but ever since they ran out of food they've been wandering, trying to find some refuge. They were following the signs to Terminus. Spent the night off the trail in the woods," he shrugged, the rest of it, they'd seen for themselves.

He'd left out the most important part, "What's her name?"

"Sophie."

_I can't do this again._

* * *

From inside the trunk Beth put together as many clues as possible about where they were going. He turned back onto a road at some point. She tried to keep track of turns, but feeling paranoid, she started to wonder if he backtracked a little just to confuse her. Eventually they came to the end of the line. The car parked and voice came from outside.

_"Not like you to come back empty-handed, Brady,"_ it was a woman talking.

_"As a matter of fact I did find something."_

The car shook as he knocked hard on the trunk. Beth clamped her hands over her ears but the loud banging still rang through her head. A moment later Brady opened the trunk. Oppressive sunlight struck her full on in the face. It took a moment for her vision to clear.

"You couldn't give her the courtesy of the back seat?" the woman was older with shoulder-length grey hair and boney arms that were crossed in front of her chest. She barely glanced at Beth from across her long nose, then she rolled her eyes at Brady, "Shit. She's a mess."

"Girl got a little wily on the road."

"Looks like you fished her out of a sack on the river."

"Yeah, well, get her to the hospital." With a final cold smile, Brady nodded a goodbye to Beth and got back in the driver's seat, waiting.

The woman had two young men walking up behind her, she cocked her head at the trunk and they reached into the back where Beth had burrowed into the corner. But at this point, struggling any more would only further aggravate her injuries. She allowed them to pull her out and got her first look at Terminus with wide, sleepless eyes.

The car engine turned on again and Brady rolled deeper into Terminus ahead of them.

It didn't resemble a train station any longer. The word that came to Beth's mind was compound. She tried to take in the different twists and turns and the landmarks as they marched her between the structures in silence. There were train cars, retrofit for new purposes and other signs of long-term stay, like planters and painted signs with messages that she couldn't understand, but nothing was obvious. Nothing stood out as an armory, or a garage or even housing. No one was outside; it was just Beth with two armed male escorts and the grey-haired woman who still hadn't actually looked at her straight on.

The building that the woman had referred to as 'the hospital' looked like a makeshift triage center from an old war movie. There were about a dozen cots and a couple of screens for privacy. They even had some equipment and supplies that looked like they had been swiped from an actual hospital.

It seemed that Beth was their only patient. All the cots were empty and stripped of bedding. They led her to the closest one and let her sit down.

Daring to elevate her bad ankle onto the cot, Beth couldn't quite bring herself to lie down, even though he ribs throbbed.

The two armed men backed away just enough to allow the grey-haired woman and Beth a few feet of space.

She never gave Beth her name, and had stubby, cold hands. Without warning, she bent down over Beth's ankle, inspecting it roughly with her hands and through squinting eyes. "You're limping, what did you do?"

"It's just a sprain. Not even a bad one. I was handlin' it."

"We'll see." The grey-haired woman still wouldn't look her in the eyes. She unwrapped her ankle. "What are these bruises?"

"Beartrap. I told you, it's just a sprain."

With a grimace the doctor finally glanced at her face, "Anything else?"

"My ribs. I think they're broken."

"Let see," the doctor motioned to Beth's torso.

Glancing at the two guards, Beth's face burned a little. They wouldn't let her be alone when she'd so recently tried to escape.

"Puritan modesty? Really?" said the doctor with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, _really_," said Beth under her breath, but she unbuttoned her sweater and pulled her shirt up so that the doctor could prod at her side and inspect the black and blue marks.

"Cracked, but there's not much I can do about it."

No sooner had the doctor finished declaring this than Beth pulled her shirt back down to her jeans.

"Your ankle will heal soon enough on its own. Your ribs just need time and rest. No physical activity for a couple of weeks and you'll be good as new. The only real danger is that you'll do something to jack them up even more and end up puncturing a lung."

"Jacked-up? Are you really a doctor?"

The grey-haired woman's gaze hardened and her cheeks went red. "I know what I'm talking about. I can get you painkillers, sheets, a whore's bath and a pair of handcuffs to keep you company. We can't really afford to keep you guarded constantly."

* * *

**Up The Wolves - Mountain Goats**


	4. Chicken

They fed her powdered milk and water.

Four times a day, the grey-haired doctor would return to give Beth more painkillers. Four times a day Beth hid the pills in her cheek until she could take them out without being seen. She kept them in the pockets of her jeans. It wasn't so much a plan forming in her head as a dozen fraying threads of bizarre thoughts. She could deal with the pain on her own, maybe she wouldn't be able to later.

If everyone she'd ever loved was gone and her fate really did lie here, with these freaks, did she want to go on?

She had to get back to Daryl.

Maybe Judith and all the other kids had been killed at the prison. Maybe Rick was dead, and Carl, and even Michonne. Maybe she'd never see Maggie or Glenn again either, but she knew that Daryl was out there. He'd run after her and called out her name.

Daryl Dixon was alive. She would find him and they would pick up exactly where they left off. With him being too nervous to say a damn thing to her—and her being content to sit in silence, nervous about reaching up to push the hair out of his eyes.

They would survive together.

Behind her cot in the hospital was a drain jutting out from the wall. Around the drain was a long, heavy chain and looped through the last link was one side of a pair of handcuffs. They'd only secured her left wrist, so that she could wash herself on her own a little more easily, and without straining her ribs further. Alone in the hospital, Beth had nothing to do but listen to the distant drip of water and try to figure out what she was planning to do with the painkillers, and which bone in her thumb was the right one to break in order to slip her cuffs.

She wouldn't kill herself. What would Maggie say? She didn't have to imagine that, Maggie had told her exactly how she felt about it in elevated decibels back when Beth tried to cut her wrist. Had Maggie stayed on the bus? If Beth knew her sister, she'd have to say no. Maggie wouldn't stay on the bus. She was too fearless to stay in safety while people she loved were still being shot at in the prison yard.

If Beth _did_ kill herself, it wasn't just Maggie she'd have to answer to in the next life. Her father would be waiting for her there…

If he knew, Daryl wouldn't just be angry with her, he'd be crushed. He blamed himself for so much already. She hadn't realized it at first; the day that they'd found the redneck still and got lit on Moonshine, he'd finally started talking.

Really… he'd started yelling.

_"You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear. Your whole family's gone, all you can do is just go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch."_

It stung, because it was at least partially true. She didn't know what to do. She just wanted a goal to accomplish. Her father was dead. Judith was gone. They couldn't find Maggie. _"Screw you. You don't get it."_ She'd just wanted something she could control.

_"No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead!_"Drunk-Daryl was a dick. He said as much later; she'd accepted his apology before he even offered it, because she knew he was in mourning, just like she was.

_"You don't know that!"_

_"Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again. Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again."_

_"Daryl, just stop."_

_"No! The Governor rolled right up to our gates."_ As frightening as it was to hear Daryl shouting at her, it was even worse when his voice started to break._ "Maybe if I wouldn't have stopped looking. Maybe 'cause I gave up. That's on me."_

When she saw how quickly his anger was turning to weeping, she couldn't help but reach out, _"Daryl."_

He shrugged her off, _"No—and your dad."_ How could she have forgotten the respect that Daryl had for her father? He'd been forced to watch him die, just like she had._ "Maybe—maybe I could have done something."_

Drunk-Beth didn't hesitate to throw her arms around his waist while he broke down crying.

Learning that she'd ended it herself would wreck him. He'd think he should have been able to find her, save her in time, just like he blamed himself for the Governor's attack and her father's death.

After they left the prison, her mind had drifted towards suicidal thoughts for a few dark, fleeting instances, but she was able to get through it. Daryl got her through it… Moonshine and Daryl, but mostly Daryl.

_"I wish I could just... change."_ She'd confessed to him while she was still floating on the feel-good fumes. It was the best time to talk about sad things, because they weren't pricking her in the heart quite so bad as when she still had all her senses intact.

_"You did." _Daryl said.

_"Not enough. Not like you. It's like you were made for how things are now."_ Whenever she tried to picture him before the apocalypse… she just couldn't. He was a hunter. A killer. His crossbow was slung on his back or in his arms. He was always a little beat-up and filthy. She couldn't imagine him living any other way.

He looked like he knew what she was thinking, _"I'm just used to it, things being ugly. Growing up in a place like this."_

The Moonshine Shack was a miserable place, isolated and riddled with obvious signs of neglect and disdain. _"Well, you got away from it."_

_"I didn't."_

_"You did."_

_"Maybe you got to keep on reminding me sometimes."_

_"No. You can't depend on anybody for anything, right?"_ She spoke his own philosophies back at him. That was one way that they were very different. She wouldn't survive all on her own, but he could. _"I'll be gone someday."_

_"Stop."_

_"I will. You're gonna be the last man standing. You are. You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."_

_"You ain't a happy drunk at all."_

Peace of mind settled in once the grief let up. Her father had been murdered in front of her. For the second time her home was overrun by the dead. Her sister was pulled away from her. Her people were all scattered or dead. She'd lost Judith. Mourning for them took over her mind and her heart for a while.

Daryl took it just as hard, and she'd been too wrapped up in her own tragedy to see that. He shut down. She blew up. They dealt with it separately and then they dealt with it together.

It was good. They were good.

Her hatred of Terminus grew the more she thought about how impossible it was that she had actually been happy, against all odds. She had nothing. Again. Nothing except Daryl.

He kept her safe. He kept her hopes up. She was happy with him.

Like a pin straight to her heart, she recalled their last conversation together.

_"I'm gonna leave a thank-you note."_ At the time it had seemed like the perfect thing to do, they'd taken their food and used their shelter. The world was different now, but all the same, she wanted to preserve something of the old world. A thank-you-for-letting-us-rob-you note seemed like the perfect compromise.

_"Why?"_ Daryl had taken a pause between spoonfulls of jam to question her.

_"For when they come back."_ Except Daryl thought they might be dead, he'd implied as much. _"If they come back. Even if they're not coming back, I still want to say thanks."_ Maybe her words could reach the dead somehow.

_"Maybe you don't have to leave that."_ Daryl surprised her, just when she thought she was figuring him out, _"Maybe we stick around here for a while."_ Ever since they left the prison, he'd kept them moving, even after the trails went cold. They never stuck in one camp for long. _"They come back, we'll just make it work. They may be nuts, but maybe it'll be alright."_ He'd sounded hopeful.

_"So, you do think there are still good people around,"_ she heard herself laugh, not because it was funny, but because it made her happy to realize it. _"What changed your mind?"_

_"You know."_

_"What?"_

With a little shrug of his shoulders Daryl only mumbled, "_Uhduno."_

_"Don't 'uhduno'… What changed your mind?"_ She watched him, waiting for his answer.

He didn't say it. He'd only looked at her, a depth of feeling in his eyes that she hadn't expected. For an instant she felt a light flutter in her chest and she was sure she knew what he was refusing to say to her.

Whatever was left of the smile on her face vanished. It wasn't funny. It was a serious thing, reading a man's mind. _"Oh."_

He was wide open and vulnerable. In that moment she'd understood him perfectly, but in the chaos that followed, it felt like a dream. Maybe she had imagined it. Now that she was alone in Terminus' hospital, she went over the exchange in her mind, trying to recall every subtle instant.

…He hadn't said it.

The hospital door swung open with a squeak. Beth didn't look up, but let her eyes creep to the side. It was about time for the grey-haired doctor to bring her more medicine.

Sure enough a meal was lowered in front of her face, but this time was different. It wasn't just powdered milk, it was a full plate. Her pills were on the rim of a proper supper.

The other difference was that the plate wasn't being held out to her by the grey-haired doctor.

"I thought you might like some real food," the young man had a genial half-smile.

"It that chicken?" Even as she asked, she thought it looked more like pork.

"Sure is," he set the plate down on her lap and took a step back, folding his arms as he inspected her from the toes up.

"Y'all have chickens?" She moved the blackened meat away from the obligatory green vegetables, finally picking up a single pea and placing it between her lips.

"No, I just ran to the supermarket and picked this up," said the young man with a dry cadence. "I've wanted to get a look at you since Brady dragged you in here. He thinks you're mother material."

"Yeah, he said so," Beth ate another pea.

"You going to eat that one mouse-bit at a time or what?" he cocked at eyebrow at her. "The fact is, Brady's a bit of a moron, you might have noticed."

"I don't think I'd be a good mother. You should just let me go. I'll get myself eaten by walkers in a day or two, but that's my problem, not yours," she cast her eyes up at him while still keeping her neck bent over the plate.

The young man didn't respond to what she'd said for a few minutes, instead he just watched her. Unease began to settle in as the silence stretched on.

"I'm Gareth, by the way." He didn't ask for her name.

She didn't give it. "I don't think I'd make a good mother, Gareth."

"Do you get your period regularly?"

Giving in to hunger, Beth picked up the meat with her fingers and took a bite, raising and lowering one shoulder as she did.

"That's one thing that can disqualify you. The stress and the lack of regular food… since the world ended, some women have a hard time. You know what I mean. Then there are women who are too good at being killers. They can do both if they want, but there's something about a killer that just doesn't want to nurture. Isn't that interesting?"

_Not really._ Beth took another bite of the chicken.

"So, what I'm trying to say is that having a uterus isn't enough. If you're not a mother, that doesn't mean we let you go. It means we find something else for you."

"I'm not much of a killer, either."

Gareth's face was fixed in an easy smile. She imagined that before the dead rose, he would have been the kind of person who everyone found likable and easy to talk to. He wasn't like Brady at all; who tried at charm and instead landed somewhere in the realm of intensely creepy. Gareth was even more unnerving, because she knew that once upon a time, she would have trusted him immediately.

"We know that," he inclined his head to her. "You're not a killer, but you're not exactly docile either."

"Thank you?"

Smirking, Gareth shook his head, "It's not a compliment. It's a problem. You're not docile. Do you know what the word recalcitrant means?"

"Recalcitrant? Like rebellious?"

"You resist authority, don't you?"

Earlier in her life, Beth might have been able to deny it with conviction. "Only when authority and I disagree."

"_That_ right there is the problem. You think it matters if you don't agree?" He clicked his tongue and frowned at her. "Women who don't understand that we're doing them a favor, keeping them protected and fed? That in return, they owe us a little... blind loyalty?" he laughed, "We don't want them. It's too much trouble dealing with someone who's biding their time to try and escape. It compromises the whole operation."

Taking a minute to think and make sure she understand everything he'd said, and hadn't said, Beth finally opened her mouth and took a deep breath. "So, let me go."

"If you can't be a mother, we'll find some use for you. I'm going to give you the night to think about it. We're not big on the bother of rebellious mothers. If you really mean no, then we'll take no as an answer."

"But I still can't leave?"

Gareth shook his head and walked to the door, "You're not leaving Terminus. We'll find a use for you." He punctuated that sentence by shutting the door behind him.

Instead of mulling over her fate at Terminus, Beth spent the night trying to slip her cuff. Daryl's brother had cut his own hand off to get free from handcuffs once. He was a big man with big wrists and hands. Beth, by contrast was all made up of little bones, skin stretched taught over smooth angles. All the same, she couldn't slip her wrist out.

She tried to break her thumb, but couldn't muster the will or strength. She was too unsure about what was the right way to do it. If she didn't break the bone properly, she might just end up injuring herself and still being stuck in the cuff.

All she had left to work with was her teeth. She'd heard about animals chewing through their own limbs to get out of traps before. She wasn't up for chewing her hand off, but maybe she didn't need to. Her fingers and wrists were dainty enough that she might be able to slip her cuffs if she could just shave off some of the flesh of her thumb. Her stomach churned at the thought, it was already upset from the meal she'd taken from Gareth earlier. She threw up into her piss-pot, then finally took a few of her pocketed painkillers and started chewing into her thumb.

* * *

"Why do I have to stay out here alone?" Sophie's big solemn eyes never failed to bring a wave of sadness and anger into Carol's heart. It wasn't fair, and she knew it.

"We don't know what it's like in there. I'm not risking you and Judith until I know for sure it's safe," Carol felt like she'd already explained this to her a dozen different ways, and still, the girl didn't get it.

She was a good babysitter, at least. When Judith did cry, which was rare, Sophie knew how to hold the baby in exactly the right way to mollify her right to sleep. They'd built a hiding place for her out of fallen tree branches. The girl still couldn't shoot, but she was getting proficient with a knife, at least. She was a good climber. Even the trees that didn't seem to have hand-holds were no match for her. After a lot of discussion, they'd decided that Tyreese and Carol would go into Terminus alone.

At first, Carol had wanted to go in by herself, but Tyreese wouldn't allow it. In case something did go wrong they'd have a better chance of getting out if they were together. Besides that, he'd finally made a good point when he told her that Terminus might be suspicious of her if she tried to claim that she'd come all by herself. People didn't make it very far on their own, and especially a woman like Carol would cause them to raise eyebrows. They might immediately assume that she was a scout.

Tyreese going in alone wasn't an option either. As he'd put it, he didn't trust himself to recognize the signs might indicate that it wasn't worth it to risk bringing in Judith and Sophie.

They left her in the woods with the baby, a gun, a knife and instructions to climb if a walker found them.

Still uneasy with this compromise, Carol walked silently besides Tyreese towards Terminus, wishing she could have convinced him to stay with the girls.

"You're cold to her," Tyreese accused Carol. "She's a helpless girl, lost everyone she ever knew before the turn. She needs a little affection, that's all. I know you do care, but you've got to show it."

"She needs to wake up. The sooner, the better."

Tyreese sighed at Carol's tone.

"She trusts like a mirror." _So do you._

It was something that Carol had picked up on the moment that Sophie jumped down to Tyreese. Neither of them thought anything of it. Tyreese could have been anybody; any type of filth eager to torture, rape, humiliate and kill her, but from the blank, innocent way that Sophie still stared at the world, Carol knew immediately that the thought had never crossed her mind. Sophie couldn't imagine hurting anyone, so she couldn't imagine anyone who might want to hurt her. She'd seen horrible things, and it hadn't awakened the survivor in her yet. How much hope could there be for someone like that?

As if reading her mind, Tyreese said, "Don't give up on her yet. Give her a chance."

The first thing Carol noticed about Terminus was the lax security. Part of what had gone wrong at the prison was that they got too complacent and too comfortable. There was more than one way to be dangerous; even if the people of Terminus weren't predatory, if they were satisfied with sub-par protection, they might be just as dangerous. She'd rather have a small group of people who were vigilant, who looked out for one another, than a large group of idiots just waiting to get each other killed.

The sheer size of the place was impressive. Their set-up was promising. She saw potted plants, an herb and vegetable garden. It was like Terminus wanted to show off its set-up before they ever saw its people.

The first person she saw was a woman with long brown hair tied in a braid. She was casually looking through the herbs, checking to see if any of them were ready to be plucked and used. From the instant that Carol saw her, she knew that this woman had already seen them coming. She had the decided air of not really minding if they snuck up on her, like she could see them out of the back of her head. She turned and greeted them with a smile, "Well, you arrived."

"And that means we survive?" Tyreese spoke first, while Carol and the woman sized each other up.

"That's right. I'm Mary," the woman smiled and gestured for them to follow, "I'm sure you've got questions. Why not come have a meal, take a load off. You must be tired."

It was then that she smelled the meat.

* * *

**Memories - Within Temptation  
**


	5. Magic Words

"Tyreese, did you learn anything from your experience in Woodbury?" Carol hissed the question to her companion the moment that the door shut, leaving them alone. They'd spent the last two hours talking with Mary. Mary, who was somehow chilly and welcoming at the same time, who answered all their questions with exactly the right, practiced words. Mary, who Carol just couldn't like. Tyreese had been friendly; to a point that it worried Carol. She could already tell that he wanted to stay.

Perhaps sensing the growing unease, Mary had left them alone to discuss it.

Tyreese glowered at the accusation buried in her question, but in looking at her eyes she thought he could tell that she was, at least, partially, being genuine. She really wanted to know if he saw anything similar here, any red flags.

"This doesn't feel like Woodbury at all," Tyreese spoke slowly, like there was a but hanging on the end of his tongue. He didn't spit it out but instead his gaze locked on hers, waiting for her to make the call.

"Does it feel… right?" To Carol, it didn't. She couldn't quite explain why, but something about the place made her skin crawl.

"She hasn't actually told us anything about them, did you notice that?" Tyreese voice dropped a little lower. "We've been in here for hours, and yeah—she's said some words, but there's no story."

It was true enough. Mary talked about their supplies and the layout of the land, the different duties that they might consider taking part in. She talked about their plans to build on and reinforce the train station. She never mentioned the names of her fellow Termites, never mentioned anything to do with history. It was like the whole place just appeared all at once.

"Everywhere I've gone, you hear a story from people. Even Woodbury had one. Why isn't there a story here?"

"There is," Carol was sure of that much, "it could be as simple as they don't like to talk about it. When we were at the prison… we weren't always forthcoming with what we'd been through. Not until trust had been earned."

"That's what I'm hoping," Tyreese admitted. "There's nothing wrong with them not trusting us. They shouldn't, right? It just means their smart."

_It could mean a lot of things. _"We're not desperate," Carol reminded him. "We can do alright on our own, if we have to. We've both done it before."

"It's always safer in a group. You know it is. When we got more people—don't you just sleep easier at night?"

Carol had little experience with sleeping easy. "I don't know. I'm worried about the girls. I don't feel for sure about it one way or another yet."

"Well, what do you need?" Tyreese was looking more anxious now. His eyes kept flickering to the door.

"Whatever decision we make; I want to feel sure that it's the right one."

For a moment, his regard was cold. He wanted to stay, she could tell. He nodded shortly, "Alright. If they're as reasonable as they seem, then they won't mind if we ask to sleep on it, will they? Let's tell them we're going to head back to our own camp for the night."

They dropped into a tense silence, waiting for Mary to return. The minutes stretched on and the uneasy feeling that Carol had been trying to rationalize swelled inside of her. Restless, she got to her feet and paced to the window. As it started to rain outside, Mary had taken them into what had probably been an administrative office of some kind before the turn. Aside from Mary, the only other Termites they'd seen had scurried by outside of the window.

Her eyes were drawn to potted flowers leading back to where Mary had first greeted them. The feeling within her redoubled and she had to swallow hard.

Before the gate, a timid figure drew steadily nearer, carrying a bundle against her chest, limping. It was too far to tell for sure, but Carol felt her heart climb, recognizing that pigeon-toed stance. "Something's wrong. Sophie is here." Carol tore out of the room, with Tyreese close behind her, taking her word for it. He reached for his hammer on instinct, just as Carol realized that her hand had gone right to her knife.

Outside, Judith's cries hit Carol like a physical blow. The baby was wailing.

Sophie stood, trying to calm her and rock her, with Mary's hands on her shoulders, leading her to another building.

Upon seeing Tyreese and Carol running towards her, Sophie stopped and looked stricken, "I'm sorry! One of them snuck up on us and I tripped," her ankle was badly swollen, trembling as she tried not to put weight on it. Her hands were sticky with walker-gore. "Carol, I'm sorry, I couldn't climb and—"

"Hush now," Mary soothed her, "I'll take the baby."

"Wait—Mary," Tyreese stepped forward to put himself between them, "We've discussed it and we think we'll take a night to think it over."

"Well, you can't leave until after we've taken a look at the girl's ankle—at least let us wrap it and get her cleaned up." Ignoring them, Mary took Judith from Sophie. A grey-haired woman and a couple of men emerged from underneath a nearby awning. Carol had the distinct impression that they'd been watching, just out of sight, for a while. Something about the placid, untroubled expressions on their faces made Carol feel even more uneasy than she already had been. Her heart was thumping harder, picking up pace with every passing moment when she still couldn't see whether or not she could trust these people. _Or anyone._

Two more men rounded the corner. These two were armed and looked like they'd arrived specifically as back-up.

"We can handle it," Carol tried to keep her voice even. "That's alright. I think we're going to leave for now. You've given us a lot to think on. I can take the baby."

Mary's smile became fixed as she didn't hand the infant over. "Sophie, go with Greg and Tom here—they can help you with your ankle."

Questioning, Sophie looked to Carol.

"No. We'll take care of her. We've got our own supplies. No need to give us any of yours." _Shit, shit, shit._ Carol watched as the two gunmen came up behind Sophie, her sad eyes became frightened and quiet in an instant.

Beside her, Tyreese was stiff, his glare fixed on them as he started to catch on. "You aren't going to let us leave, are you?"

"Carol, Tyreese—what's happening?!" Sophie shook as one of the gunmen scooped her up, taking the weight off her ankle.

"It's going to be okay," Tyreese lied in such a soothing voice; it made Carol sigh inwardly.

Carried away, Sophie only started to weep in fear after she was out of sight. Tyreese and Carol found themselves with Mary, the grey-haired woman and the two other gunmen who seemed content to await orders, though their guns were already drawn and just a flick of the wrist from being aimed right at them.

"What's the game?" Carol asked, surprised that she felt more weariness than real fear. It could never end, could it? There was always some predator waiting to take them.

"Are there any more of you?" asked the grey-haired woman.

Any way that she chose to answer or remain silent, they would read something into it. What did they think this was? Carol eyed the gunmen, but kept the grey-haired woman, Mary and Judith in her periphery. "Why can't we just leave? What are you going to do to us?"

"We've got barely anything to steal," Tyreese reasoned darkly, "We're just looking for a safe place, mostly because of the girl and baby. They should be somewhere safe."

"You're right," Mary's smile widened. Judith was settled now, suckling on her own fist and seemingly undisturbed by anything that was happening. "They should be somewhere safe. That's precisely where they are." She started to leave, the grey-haired woman walking with her.

"You can't—" Tyreese took a step after them but found himself facing two loaded barrels.

Gradually, Carol brought her hands up and stepped forward. Tyreese followed suit. Her mind was racing with possibilities. What purpose could they have to trap people like this? They'd put up all those signs and seemed to have so many resources, why not create a haven for survivors? What else could Terminus be?

But she'd known it was something else. She'd felt it. She just couldn't explain it.

Their weapons were taken from them and with a gun-barrels at their backs they were marched through Terminus.

"I can tell you exactly what happens to people like you," growled Tyreese, "I've seen what happens to people like you. You'll get what you deserve."

The gunmen led them to a train-car with a large letter D painted on the outside. Inside, Carol though she could hear someone weeping.

"Open the door," one of them jabbed Tyreese hard with his gun.

She was fairly certain it took every ounce of self-control he had not to immediately have a go at beating the man to death with his bare hands. It would have probably earned them both a shower of bullets if he had, but some part of Carol flared up, wanting to see him fight back.

Tyreese grabbed the handle of the train-car and yanked it open.

The prospect of walking into the dark finally triggered the fear that Carol had pushed beneath. Her hands started to shake until they bared themselves into fists. This was bad. Some part of her was sure that if she walked into that dark, she wouldn't see the sun again. She had to do something to change this. "Where did you take Sophie?" she demanded.

Tyreese stepped into the doorway, but was looking back over his shoulder at the gunmen, hand braced against the frame.

"Inside," one of the gunmen barked.

"Where is she? Why isn't she with us?" They'd said they were going to fix her ankle. There was no point in that unless they thought there was something they could use her for. Skipping over the possibilities of what that might be Carol drew one important fact from this; Terminus did need some people. Like any other group, they would have needs. If she could satisfy some need, then maybe she wouldn't be shoved in the dark.

"Your turn," the gunman jerked his head towards the car.

"But, maybe I can help—"

"Inside!"

"I'm a doctor."

"We got a doctor. Inside."

Her heart skipped. He wouldn't have said that if her theory wasn't true. "I'm a very good doctor—since the turn I've successfully treated illness—"

The nearest gunmen stepped forward and grabbed her roughly by the arm, bodily walking her up to the train-car. The other stood stock-still with his gun raised, ready to fire if she tried anything.

"I've done illness and injury—amputations, I've delivered babies—" At this moment in her fiction, the gunman paused and she knew she'd struck gold.

They were both looking at her with renewed interest, their jaws set, their guns still raised. They didn't want her to know yet, that she'd said the magic words, but they'd stopped pushing. They were listening to her.

"…I even did a caesarian-section, after the turn."

* * *

**Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd**


	6. Painkillers

The hurt still rocked her. She still felt the throbbing of it in her gauze-wrapped hand and the aching in her ribs didn't go away, but the painkillers made it alright. She still felt it, she just… didn't care. They had started working during the crucial moments when she was ripping out the chunk of flesh on her thumb, keeping the cuff from coming free. She still felt pain, her stomach still rocked at the taste of her own blood and the feel of her own ragged bits of flesh getting caught in her teeth, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. It was just the edge she needed to actually go through with it.

By dawn, she was free. Red seeped through the white bandages, but it didn't bother her nearly as much as it would when Beth ran out of painkillers. She only had the vaguest idea of which direction would get her out of the Terminus compound the quickest. Lucky for her, the hospital door wasn't locked, but unluckily, she found herself seemingly in the very middle of their den.

No clear pathway to freedom stood out. She kept tight to the walls and tried to stay in the general vicinity of where there would be plenty of doors and turns to take, and objects to hide behind. Like when she'd first arrived and been marched through the compound, no one was around.

Terminus was quiet and yet strangely threatening in all its cold, disconnected pathways, void of life. She decided to just pick a direction and walk. She'd have to see the edge eventually, find the fence that surrounded them. As long as she didn't veer off into too many twists and turns, she would make it to the edge.

"Mary's welcoming, you can talk to her about it later." A voice came from around the next corner. Beth ducked into an open crate just as the voice rounded the corner.

Through the gaps in the wooden planks of the crate she saw three men turn the corner. One of them was Brady.

"She could have waited—" said the smallest of the three, a weedy looking man with a long, bent neck.

"You know the rules," Brady shut his companion down.

"More importantly, you know _why_ we follow the rules. Mary didn't have anything against Alex, you know that."

"I guess I just want to hear it from her," grumbled the weedy-looking man.

"She'll just tell you exactly what we did," said Brady, "She waited as long as she could. We let it go on long enough. Alex knew the rules too."

"Hux said he was begging…"

Their voices grew faint as they rounded the next corner. The last thing she heard was Brady's would-be-soothing words as he threw one heavy, muscled arm over the weedy man's shoulders, "Any of us would do the same. Any of us would die the same way. That's the way it has to be or none of this will work. Don't blame Mary. Blame the longpigs, or blame Alex for letting himself get snagged by their ring-leader in the first place."

She didn't want to go where they'd gone, and she didn't want to head in the direction that they'd come from either. If this was a common pathway for the people of Terminus, she didn't want to be here any longer. Silent and vigilant, she slithered out from the crate and headed in the only other direction available to her, straight through a garage of sorts. Through the window on the door, she could see that it was empty and it looked like the far doors were hanging open as well. Still, it made her uneasy as the door shut behind her. She didn't like not having options for which direction to run. She made it to the far side of the garage and peaked out. The coast was clear, except that in the distance between two larger structures she saw a single figure. She ducked back inside the garage for a moment to catch her breath and let her heart slow back to a steady thump. She peaked out with one eye and saw the figure again. Her heart nearly stopped at the sight of him.

Tyreese.

There was no mistaking him—that was Tyreese, he'd made it. Had he joined Terminus?

Another figure stepped out in front of him and Beth had to clamp her hand over her mouth. It was Carol. She had her hands up. Seconds later and with visible reluctance Tyreese raised his arms as well.

They hadn't joined Terminus at all—they had been trapped, just like her. A moment later they walked out of sight, armed escorts at their backs. Scurrying after them, Beth couldn't form a rational plan. She didn't know what to do, except that she had to see where they were taking Tyreese and Carol. She wasn't going to escape Terminus alone.

She could hear more voices now, but they were distant. For a troubling moment, she thought she heard Tyreese; probably telling their captors exactly where they could go.

"She's been cared for," said a woman's voice. It was coming towards Beth from around the next corner.

She ducked into a doorway and squeezed up tight, the handle jammed into her back.

Two women rounded the corner, but they didn't see Beth, their backs were to her as they glided by.

"Let me take her!" It was the grey-haired doctor.

The other woman was older as well, with long brown hair in a messy braid over one shoulder. She held Judith against her shoulder, but at the urging of the grey-haired woman she paused in her stride and passed the baby over.

Horror-stricken, Beth had to bite down hard on both lips. Judith's eyes met hers from over the grey-haired woman's shoulder, with one fist in her mouth she smiled and her eyes scrunched up at Beth as she squealed. Both women giggled and resumed their march. They had the baby. They had _her_ Judith. Who else was here?

She'd already lost Carol and Tyreese in the labyrinthine structures, but she could see where they were headed with Judith. She tried to keep very quiet, but was having to move more quickly now that she was following someone. She wasn't close enough to hear what they said, but Judith began to fuss, so she was better able to keep track of how far ahead of her they were, even as she stayed folded behind the last corner, waiting for them to turn before she hurried after them.

Her eyes scanned the ground for anything that she might be able to use as a weapon, but the search proved to be fruitless.

A small group of men crossed her path, forcing her to draw backwards rapidly and hide again. She stayed with her back pressed up against the wall, peaking out to see if they'd gone yet. Unfortunately, it seemed like they were sticking around. One of them pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Judith's cries grew distant.

Thinking she might be able to cut them off on the other side, Beth took the long way around the building, but the baby's wailing voice faded into silence and there was no more sign of her.

Uncertainty froze her in place for a moment. She concentrated on taking deep breaths and listening to her own heartbeat. She needed to get out before they noticed she was gone. Maybe that would be the smartest thing to do—she could leave and come back once they'd given up on looking for her. What would happen in the mean time? What would they do with Carol and Tyreese? From the way that the grey-haired woman had looked at Judith, she wasn't worried about them hurting the baby, but it still made her furious. She had to get Judith away from them. That was _her_ child, even if she hadn't given birth to her.

If she stayed, she might get caught… but if she did manage to escape, how would she be able to get back in? Something else could happen to her outside Terminus. No, it wasn't right. She wasn't going to leave while they were still in here. She might get caught, no matter what she did. They would be stronger together; they could help each other escape.

Resolved to find the others first, Beth started heading the direction where it had looked like they were leading Carol and Tyreese.

A shrill cry of pain came from the building to her right. Beth jumped, and the scream continued, it sounded like a woman—in fact the voice was somewhat familiar. A stream of obscenities mingled in with the woman's shouts. Beth darted around a hanging plastic curtain, around a fence towards the screaming and tripped over something sticky that crunched under her feet.

The screaming seemed to grow loud enough to fill her head as she looked down and saw what she'd stepped on. She stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out and scrambled backwards. Bones. Human bones, stripped of all their flesh and still wet. They weren't the discolored bones of walkers either; they were slick with living fluid. There was a pile of them, draining and drying on the ground.

The shouting from inside the building was growing incoherent; she couldn't even make out a single curse any longer, it degraded into sobbing. Beth darted to the door and peered through the window. Two men had a woman strung up between them; a dangling meat-hook went straight through her shoulder. Her head was hung low so that Beth couldn't see her face, just a jumble of dark, curly hair. With both hands she clutched at the hook piercing her shoulder, trying to keep it from tearing any further through her flesh. One man had a knife, ready to gut her, while the other had a pair of scissors he was using to cut her clothing off.

The woman lifted her head just enough so that Beth could see her face; it was Sasha.

* * *

**Not Your Fault - AWOLNATION**


	7. Fresh Kill

Before she knew what she was planning to do, Beth snatched a femur from the ground and stomped on it while stressing the bend upward. The bone broke with a sickening crack. She tore off the weaker end, thinking madly of the wishbone at Thanksgiving. With her makeshift weapon she charged into the building. Both men turned to face her as she entered, but she'd taken them completely by surprise and using their shock to her advantage, immediately stabbed the man holding the knife in the eye.

_Just like a walker_. With the bone still sticking out of his face he fell backwards, his knife clattering on the ground.

Sasha was undressed down to her underwear now; she stopped screaming and looked in delirious incredulity at Beth. The remaining man lunged for the knife just as Beth reached for it. Both their hands hit it at the same time, through his got the handle and hers, the blade. He drew it sharply away from her, leaving a thin red line down her palm as he kicked her away.

Beth struck the ground and immediately reached for the bone sticking out of the other man's corpse.

All at once, Sasha seemed to realize that she wasn't hallucinating. With another agonizing scream she heaved her legs upwards and wrapped them around her remaining attacker from behind. She held him fast while Beth put one foot of the corpse's neck and heaved the bone out of his eye-socket.

"Do it now, _I can't hold him_!" Sasha shrieked.

This time, he cried out when she shoved the bone into his skull, but it ceased in an instant. With a triumphant shout, Sasha uncoiled her legs from around the dead man and let him fall in a heap beside the other body. "Get me down!" she pleaded, her face twisted. Slick wet blood made her shaking hands slid from off the edge of the hook as she tried to hold herself up.

The painkillers that Beth had taken were starting to wear off; this much was clear as she tried to hoist Sasha off of the meat-hook and felt her injured side pounding so violently that her whole body was taken by a spasm. She let go of her and gasped, hands falling onto her knees. Her ankle was almost completely recovered, but her ribs could have used another week at least. "I'm not strong enough! Just a minute," Beth looked around for something that Sasha could stand on.

"_Hurry_!" Sasha urged; her hands trembled, slick with dark blood, as she tried to hold her own weight up.

Shoved in the corner beside a collection of more knives, chains and meat-hooks she found a wooden chair. It was old and wobbly, but it held together well enough that Sasha was able to stand on it while she Beth helped her pull the meat-hook free.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Sasha asked in between labored breaths as she collapsed into a sitting position on the ground beside her shredded clothing.

Beth inspected her shoulder, it wasn't bleeding as much as she expected. "Kidnapped. We gotta get outta here—but first we've got to find Tyreese, Carol and—"

"My brother is here?!" Sasha's already stricken face contorted again.

"You didn't come with them?" Beth's looked at her with wide eyes.

"No—didn't you?!"

"Terminus _stole_ me from Daryl. I came here alone—how did _you_ get here?"

"With your sister, Glenn, Bob and some new folks."

Not knowing whether to feel relieved that Maggie was so close, or horrified that her sister was also trapped in Terminus, Beth could only stare at Sasha, overwhelmed.

"Rick's here too—with his son, Michonne and Daryl."

Daryl was here. A feeling of completely inappropriate, mad happiness washed over her. She was shaking and bloody, she'd just killed two men, but none of that could dampen how hopeful she suddenly felt. She thought she might never see Maggie again. Since beginning her mad escape attempt she'd thought constantly about getting back to Daryl, and until now she hadn't realized how afraid she'd been that she would never see him again.

They were so close, Judith was so close. She may have lost her father, but she could get the rest of them back; the people she cared about were all around her. "Here, take some of these," she dug into her pocket for more of the painkillers and handed a few to Sasha.

Sasha's clothing was ruined, but Beth used the fabric to wrap her shoulder while Sasha began to put her shoes back on with quaking fingers. There was a pile of discarded garments in the corner. Shivering, Beth realized that they were from other victims. She started to look through the clothes, not all of it was damaged like Sasha's had been; they were more brutal with her than they needed to be.

"So, these guys are cannibals," said Sasha in a would-be casual voice.

_That was definitely not chicken._ "That's kinda how it appears." Beth's stomach twisted, but she tried not to think about it, there was nothing she could do now but get herself and the people she loved out of Terminus and spend the rest of her life trying to forget that she'd eaten the meat. "I can't believe they didn't kill you first—I mean—I'm glad they didn't, but that's so…"

"I know what you mean," still clutching at her injured shoulder with one hand, Sasha began to search the two bodies for weapons. "I think they might have killed me first _if_ I'd been a little nicer. They were almost… ritualistic, about it. I think sometimes, they gut and start to cut them alive, for a reason," she shuddered. "Maybe they just get off on it."

"This is still more or less alright," Beth tossed Sasha a long black pull-over sweatshirt with a hood. It wasn't torn, besides some fraying on the hands, but it was streaked with bloodstains.

"It'll due," Sasha started to try and lift it over her head with a groan, "Help me out?" she gave up with a heavy exhale.

Beth helped her get the sweatshirt on. It was long enough on her that it looked alright even with bare legs and a pair of boots.

"Come on—I know what we should do," Sasha had found nothing but a couple of daggers on the two dead men.

Armed with those and with the large knife that had been meant to gut Sasha, they prepared to leave.

"We gotta get everybody out," a little panic took hold of Beth when Sasha started to shake her head. They couldn't leave without the others.

"Rick hid a bag of weapons just outside Terminus—in case, you know, they couldn't be _trusted_." She snapped the last word with an aggressive jerk of her head, "We go get that stuff and then we come back here and get the weapons to them and get them out—that's the plan." Sasha shot Beth a look, as if daring her to argue.

"Alright," Beth nodded. She couldn't think of a better idea.

"Just stay behind me and do what I say," whispered Sasha as she opened the door and slipped out into the yard.

Beth nodded again and bit down hard on her tongue. _You wouldn't say that to Maggie._ It wasn't a good time to dwell on it, or get annoyed. They needed to work together to get out and Sasha had more experience with this kind of thing. Still Beth couldn't help but feel a little resentful. She had just saved Sasha's life, but she felt certain that out of everyone in their group Beth was the last person who Sasha would want by her side in a fight.

It was getting later in the morning and Beth had an uneasy feeling that Terminus would be getting steadily more crowded towards noon; feeding time. Twice she tried to warn Sasha that she thought they were heading back the direction she'd already come—towards the middle of the compound, but Sasha shushed her and assured her she knew where they were going.

Sure enough, more people were outside and they frequently had to hide or duck inside buildings to avoid being seen.

Finally they were within sight of the fence. Beth must have gotten turned around somewhere; she couldn't make sense of their location. Terminus was purposefully confusing, a maze trying to lead them back to where they would be the most vulnerable. They passed loads of train-cars. Beth could hear people inside of them. "Are the others in one of these?" She kept her voice a whisper hoping that Sasha wouldn't snap at her again.

"Yeah—that's where they keep people. Weren't you in one?"

"No, they had me somewhere else." _Where do they keep the other mothers?_ "We should let all of them out."

"That's a nice thought and everything, but we've got to get _our_ people out."

"But if there's a lotta us—we could overrun the place."

"Look—I don't know what your experience has been like so far—but Terminus has some serious firepower. I just want to get out. We can't afford to start a war."

_They started it._ They were getting near to the fence now, but didn't dare step out into the open. They kept cover in the corridors between structures, looking warily at the open field between them and freedom. "When they're on guard, they're a force to be reckoned with. I think we'd better bolt before they figure out we're gone and send in the cavalry."

It had been a long while since Beth escaped from the hospital. Gareth had said he'd come for her answer the next day. She could only hope that he was busy and hadn't gotten around to it yet. Otherwise, Terminus would already be on alert.

"Yeah, let's run," Beth agreed.

Without another moment's hesitation, Sasha grabbed Beth's hand and yanked it hard as she burst into a run. When they hit the fence, Beth thought she heard a shout. Sasha tossed the butcher's knife over the top and immediately began to try and climb, gritting her teeth as her injured shoulder struggled to bear weight.

Beth gave her a boost so that she was able to swing one leg over the top, she grazed it over the barbed wire, but she made it.

"_Hey_!" someone had definitely seen them. Beth didn't turn her head but from how far away the voice sounded, she figured that he wasn't far enough—probably someone patrolling the fence.

With a violent crash, Sasha hit the ground on the other side of the fence and immediately scrambled to her feet, cut, but alright, "Come on!"

Her ribs wouldn't let her hurry, Beth tried to pull herself up and felt a strain in her chest. Her vision was spotty from the pain, she tried to let her legs do most of the work, but she wasn't fast enough. She'd barely reached the top of the fence when someone slammed into her from the side.

Hitting the dirt hard, all the air was forced from Beth's lungs. The man on watch was joined by a half-dozen others; heavy boots marched towards the fence, they already had guns drawn.

Sasha didn't need to be told to run for it, she had already bolted into the woods. A few bullets chased her, but from the looks of frustration on their faces, Beth was certain that she'd gotten away.

* * *

**Play With Fire - The Birthday Massacre**


	8. Reunion

On the side of the train-car was a large white A. The barrel of a gun was at her back. They'd taken the knife and the painkillers from her pockets. Then one of the soldiers had pulled the sweater off of her back, intending to give it to someone called Angela. One of them ordered her to open the door and walk inside.

The train-car was dark at first, even more so when she closed the door behind her, also on the orders of the men with the guns. The second the door shut, someone slammed into her, wrapping her in a tight, trembling embrace.

Loud sobbing filled her ear. It was Maggie. She'd rushed to her the second she'd seen her.

"It's Beth," Rick's disbelieving voice sounded from the back of the car.

"I thought you were dead," Maggie pulled back to look at her in the adjusting darkness.

_I knew you were alive._ Beth couldn't speak but pressed her hands against her sister's wet cheeks, as a sob escaped her.

Behind them, the others made their way forward. Bob stood with Glenn and a girl who looked vaguely familiar, though Beth knew she wasn't from their group at the prison. Sasha had said that they had some new people. Rick and Carl came forward, with Michonne hovering behind Carl, her eyes glinting in the thick dark. The rest of the shadows stayed back, though Beth thought she could make out where Daryl stood frozen amongst the unfamiliar outlines.

"Are you alright, Beth?" Carl searched Beth with big blue eyes; maybe he'd caught the pained look on her face when Maggie squeezed her around the middle a little too hard.

She wiped her eyes, "I'll be fine," _unless they chop me up and eat me._

"Beth—how did you get here?" Glenn appeared beside Maggie, putting a hand on her shoulder.

With a sigh she was able to stop crying, "I got myself all kidnapped by some asshole while Daryl and I were tryin' to get away from walkers. Name's Brady. He brought me back here. Didn't Daryl tell you…?" At the word 'kidnapped' Beth got confused, because Maggie's face split into undisguised terror.

"Uh, _no_. Daryl?" Glenn turned and held up his hands towards the darkness, as if demanding an explanation.

"Daryl, what the _hell_?" said Maggie.

One heavy footstep at a time, Daryl slid into the thin shaft of light leaking in through the rusted roof. He'd clearly taken a nasty beating recently, one eye was blackened and he was striped with bruises and cuts. He didn't seem to have heard either Glenn or Maggie; he was looking at Beth, speechless.

"He told me," Rick's sharp declaration cut off any more censure that Maggie or Glenn might have leveled at Daryl. "He _told_ me the two of them escaped from the prisoner together, they traveled for a while after that, and then Beth was gone. Now—I didn't think it would help anythin' to tell you about it, just yet."

Beth barely heard what Rick said. She didn't care if it accidentally crushed her ribs to powder; she wanted to run to Daryl and feel those strong arms hold her. Here he was, silent, as was typical of him, but once again she thought she could read everything on his battered face. He looked relieved to see her alive, but there was fear too. He thought she would hate him; blame him for not being able to rescue her from Brady. All she wanted was to show him that she was just happy that they had found one another again… they'd found their family.

Instead, she felt a frustrating shyness take hold. They were all _watching_. If it had just been them two alone, she never would have hesitated. "Daryl did everythin' he could to protect me," she tore her eyes away from him and looked back at her sister. "It was bad. He was buried in walkers… ordered me to run for it. That's when Brady grabbed me."

She glanced back at Daryl in time to see him look down at his hands, she couldn't tell whether he'd gotten the message or not. He turned around, back rounded as his head sank. In the shadows she could barely make out one of the angel wings on the back of his vest.

"I'm glad you're with us," said Rick.

"I'm sorry you're here," Michonne offered the other viewpoint on the matter with raised eyebrows at Rick, "You're not exactly out of danger yet."

"Sasha's free, she got over the fence," said Beth, "She's goin' after your stash and then she'll be back."

"She got out?" relief spread over Rick's face, while he others let out similar exclamations. "They took her about an hour ago, we didn't know whether they were gonna interrogate her or—"

"Eat her," Beth corrected, suppressing a gag.

No one looked remotely surprised. Michonne placed her hands over Carl's shoulders, lending him a little strength and comfort.

"She got away?" Bob asked; his brow twisted in concern.

"Yeah—she's hurt—her shoulder… but she's alive and plannin' to come back for us. Also—I'm guessin' you don't know, since she didn't—Tyreese, Carol and Judith are all here too."

If the look on Rick's face couldn't inspire hope in her, then Beth didn't know what would. "Judith?"

"She's alive?" Carl's lip trembled.

"Yeah—someone, Tyreese or Carol, I'd guess, must have found her at the prison. I was looking for her and the other kids, but there was too many walkers—and everyone was gone, except Daryl."

"And me," Glenn raised his hand with a grim smile. "I was unconscious inside the prison."

"And you all ended up coming to the same place?" one of the strangers spoke up. The girl who looked a little familiar, with short dark hair and an oddly innocent stare stepped forward. "Isn't that kind of bizarre?"

"We all ambled into the same trap, as I see it," Daryl turned back and finally spoke, but his eyes avoided her.

Rick and Carl were both choked up on tears, but in a moment Rick managed to rally, "Carol?"

"Yeah, and Tyreese," Beth frowned at the question, what did that face mean?

"Nevermind all that _now_," Daryl addressed Rick, stepping forward to catch his eye, "We got more people! Rick—I call that an advantage."

"Daryl, they got my _daughter_," Rick's voice broke, his mouth twitched into a furious snarl.

"So, we kill 'em and rescue the little ass-kicking princess—the plan don't change," Daryl threw up one hand.

"Y'all got a plan?" asked Beth, hopefully. The silence that followed was disappointing. "Oh."

"We're workin' on it," Rick actually managed to sound confident, in spite of the fear she'd seen in his eyes when he talked about Terminus having Judith.

The strangers in the back were speaking in low voices and soon everyone broke into smaller conversations. Maggie and Glenn stood with Beth by the door, both of them still looking at her like they couldn't believe she was real. "You sure you can trust them?" she indicated the shadows in the back of the train-car with a tilt of her head.

"They're good people," Glenn nodded, "They helped me find Maggie," he laced his fingers through hers.

"There were so many different tracks. We followed some until they vanished. I wanted so bad to find you." Beth admitted.

Pain flickered across Maggie's eyes. "I wanted to find you too," she said each word slow, like she wasn't quite sure how to follow this thought, "But…" she trailed off and Beth thought she understood.

Nodding, Beth looked back and forth between their faces. Maggie's was guilt-stricken, while Glenn simply looked a little bit confused, but knew well enough not to ask, or even say, anything. "It's alright," with a soft cough, Beth cleared her throat. "It's okay. You figured I was probably dead because… because I'm…" _I'm not like you. I'm weak. I'm the sort of person who dies._ She tried to think of a way to say it without sounding like she was accusing Maggie of giving up on her.

"Beth, I'm so sorry," Maggie's voice broke, "I wanted to—"

"It's okay," she said again, partially trying to convince herself. She and Maggie had always been different and this was one way that she had a hard time relating to her older sister. She could never imagine being put into a position where she had to weigh her sister's chances of survival against her husband's… Of course Glenn had won. "It don't matter. We're all together again now."

"Yeah, just in time for dinner," grumbled Glenn, earning himself a disapproving glance from his wife, "Sorry. Not funny."

Rick and Daryl had been speaking in tense whispers for the last few minutes, but now Rick was telling Carl and Michonne something in a hushed voice, and Daryl had retreated back a ways to give them some privacy.

"I gotta tell Daryl somethin'."

Maggie looked like she was on the verge of speaking, but she closed her mouth and gave her sister a tight smile instead.

Smiling back, Beth hugged her a second time. Her ribs pulsed from the pressure, but it was worth it.

On the far wall of the train-car, Daryl had slid into a sitting position on the ground. He looked up and watched Beth approach.

She hunkered down next to him on the ground and just looked at his bruised face for a moment, wondering if he'd let her take his hand, or if being back with the group meant she shouldn't even try it. "So… a little further up the road than expected," she tried to laugh but couldn't quite manage it.

He failed to smirk back, taking a long lingering look at her face, then he motioned to her mouth with one hand, his fingernails were caked with dirt. "You got some blood in your teeth."

"Yeah?" sliding her tongue across the front of her grin, she instantly felt a little more relaxed. He wasn't shutting her out, at least, "Tryin' a new look."

"Suits you." He took her hands and inspected them with his fingers. He first drew a line following the thin cut she'd received while saving Sasha, then he turned his attention to the bloodied gauze. Her hand wasn't noticeably misshapen yet. It had been when she first gnawed through the side of her thumb, but now the swelling made it look almost normal. When it healed, it was bound to be forever deformed.

"Handcuff," Beth explained.

"My sorry-ass bro could have learned a thing or two from you, God rest his guileful soul."

"I got me some dainty wrists—it was a million times easier than what Merle _had_ to do." Compared to hers, Daryl's hands were so large and strong, calloused and lined with little cuts.

Drawing back, Daryl leaned against the wall and stuffed his hands back in his pockets, looking at the floor beside them. In his downcast face she saw the same shyness that had frozen her in place when she first saw him; it had taken hold. It made her feel nervous, thinking about it, but between the two of them, she was technically the bold one.

"So, where were we? Oh yeah. I asked you what changed your mind. You were gonna tell me what restored your faith in people?" Beth decided to dive right in. She would make him talk to her.

For a moment he was just as tongue-tied as he'd been the first time she asked him, then in little more than a grumble he said, "With all due respect—lot's happened since then." He gestured pointedly around the train-car.

"You lettin' it change your answer?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "Answer's still the same," he paused for a moment shrugged at her just the way he had before. "_Uhduno._"

In response she rolled her eyes and fought a grin that he nearly mirrored.

"Answer's the same." He held her gaze and some of the shyness fell away for the smallest instant. It was such a fleeting thing that she almost missed it. Then he was looking at the ground again. He had such a thick shell, she wanted to get through to him, but with so many people around, he seemed more guarded. It had been hard enough getting him to open up when it was just the two of them.

"What happened to you," she traced the bruises on his face with her eyes.

"Who the hell cares?" Daryl shrugged again, his eyes flickering back up to her, "You hurt? Tell me for real."

"I'm fine. He didn't do nothin' to me, really," she shrugged, "Just scared me a bit."

"Don't matter what he did or didn't do; he's a dead sumbitch."

Satisfied to hear him say it, she nodded, tasting a little bit of bile brought on my anger in the back of her throat. "I tried to fight him. I tried to get away, but he was so strong and I couldn't. He was sayin' all this stuff about how he'd saved me from getting caught by those walkers. He said that you'd turned and were comin' after me too. He was tryin' to trick me into thinking I owed him my life."

The expression on Daryl's face darkened with every accusation she leveled against Brady.

"They didn't lock me up with the others, because at first he wanted—well, he didn't want to eat me. I was hurt. They patched me up." She looked down at her mutilated hand again, biting her lip. "But, then I tried to escape, so…" she trailed off.

She couldn't read Daryl's mind this time, but his jaw was clenched and whatever he was thinking, she was pretty certain there would be heavy and highly creative expletives mixed it.

The train-car door slid open. Standing in the doorway was Brady. At his back, men held rifles over his shoulders aimed at them, daring them to make a move. Brady's eyes found Beth right away and he smirked at her.

They held their breath as one, hatred rolling off of them like they were exhaling it onto the people of Terminus.

"How about that one?" Brady looked past her to Daryl and flicked his finger. "Sound good?" he turned to speak to someone standing just out of sight.

"Your call—it's nothing to me," it sounded like Gareth.

"You there, archer, stand up and come outside."

It was like a ripcord had been yanked out of Beth's heart, "NO!" she grabbed onto Daryl's arm, even as he started to get to his feet, jaw clenched. Brady had only chosen Daryl because of her—because she was sitting so close to him. "No, no, no," she repeated, shaking her head and trying to hold him back. They'd only just found each other.

Brady's face was fixed in his insincere smile as he watched her.

"Nothin' to be done, girl," Daryl muttered to her, he didn't look the least bit afraid. He was still waiting for his shot to get away, like Sasha had—she hadn't explained yet that _she_ saved Sasha.

"I could use two, if you want to join him," said Brady with the air of someone asking if they wanted to come along to the supermarket.

"Yes," Beth exhaled.

In unison the rest of the train-car shouted "NO!"

"I ain't leavin' you again!" Beth kept a firm grip on Daryl's arm, even as he placed a firm hand on the top of her chest to push her back.

"It's just me—I'm goin' alone," Daryl stepped forward to meet Brady in the doorway, Beth still dragging along, instantly re-attached to his arm.

Grabbing her sister by her shoulders, Maggie finally managed to get her to step back, "Beth, let go—come on, it's not gonna help him. _You_ _can't help him._"

"No, I'm liking this idea of taking two," said Brady, nodding pensively, "Come on, dollface."

"She ain't going," Daryl stared Brady down in what was undeniably a threat.

Brady's face split into his familiar 'almost-laughing' look before it went stony again. "You're _powerless,_ don't you get it? We dominated you, already."

Daryl shook his head slowly, "You ain't gotta tell a person when you beat 'em. They just know."

The chill that must have rippled through Brady was visible on his usually blank face. He tried to hide his unease with a tight jaw, but his nostrils flared out and he finally had to look away from Daryl's steady gaze.

Two others stepped around the riflemen at Brady's back and pulled Daryl down out of the train-car.

Beth went after them.

"Beth—wait, stop! _Don't take my sister,_" Maggie rushed after her, but Glenn and Rick held her back.

As the train-car door slammed shut, Beth heard Maggie's voice rise to a wail.

A dozen armed men and women surrounded them. Beth laced her fingers through Daryl's as Gareth stepped forward, looking at the pair of them with arms crossed and face indifferent.

"Hey Hannibal, can I put in a request for a certain type of marinade?" Daryl asked Gareth gruffly.

Looking past them, Beth thought that Gareth's face looked like he was fighting the urge to smile. "Actually, we've got a situation. In fact, we canceled lunch to take care of it."

_And because I helped her get over the fence and run away._ Beth eyes widened at Gareth. What kind of situation?

"Remember when you told me that you wanted me to just let you go, implying that you'd rather be eaten by walkers than be a mother?" Gareth gave Beth a meaningful look that made her feel sick.

"Yeah?"

He turned and started walking away, "I said we'd find a use for you."

"Let's go," Brady motioned for them to come.

With rifles digging in between their shoulder-blades, Daryl and Beth were marched to a waiting car.

* * *

**Coming Home, Pt. II - Skylar Grey**


	9. C-section

Carol hadn't counted on her lie about the caesarian-section being challenged so quickly. She'd hardly been inducted into Terminus' society when Jenny went into labor.

Jenny was the reason that Carol hadn't been thrown into that train-car with Tyreese. She was ready to pop and everyone was worried because her first child had been done by c-section. Memories of Lori came back to Carol with a flood of frustrating, pitiable emotions.

The grey-haired woman who'd taken Judith was their doctor. Really, she was a high school biology teacher who'd dropped out of medical school twenty years earlier. She had enough knowledge to help them with minor issues, but lacked experience, which Carol had asserted that she had.

They took her to the Mother's House; a building that had been converted into comfortable living quarters. They kept the girls here, and most of them were just girls. There were only a few women like Jenny, old enough that calling them by the title of mother didn't feel inherently wrong. Carol tried not to think about it, tried not to notice the familiar dead expression in the eyes of the girls. They were weak, desperate and afraid.

Terminus protected them, and in return they just needed to make babies and then care for them. There were about a dozen noticeably pregnant women among them, a few more who would be soon, if they weren't already. She only saw about five babies and wondered how long the Mother House had been part of Terminus… and then, how many they might have lost. Sitting with some of the other girls in a lounge of sorts, she saw Sophie. She passed by the room so quickly that she was fairly certain that Sophie hadn't seen her. She looked alright, at least. She wasn't crying. She was with some girls her own age, though Carol cringed to think what they might be telling her.

_Maybe this will wake her up._

Judith was still with the grey-haired doctor, she saw them together as she was led back to where Jenny convulsed and wailed in the birthing room.

"Y-you're a doctor? You deliver babies!?" Jenny gasped in between little shrieks. She looked like she was trying to shred the bed-sheets underneath her.

"Yes. Calm down. I'm going to help you." _This is not going to be the same as a walker._ Carol acknowledged quietly to herself in one inward voice, just in time for another one to tell her to shut up and start cutting. She had done it before—on a corpse, and besides that, she was getting very dexterous with a knife. There was no reason for them to ever know that she lied.

Her concern for herself ebbed away after being in the room with the tormented mother for a few seconds. She wanted to maintain her lie, but also, she found herself feeling a real desire to save this woman and her baby.

The grey-haired doctor appeared to assist her. Carol hoped that she'd handed Judith off to someone competent.

"We've got plenty of drugs," said the grey-haired woman.

"Good, we'll need them."

They were just about finished scrubbing their hands clean in preparation when one of the mother's screams was eclipsed by the sound of gunblast. A series of shots peppered the air.

"Go see what that's about," the grey-haired woman snapped to one of the girl's lingering in the hallway to watch the surgery.

"We've got to focus on what's happen in here, for the moment," said Carol, though her heart was pounding. Maybe it was just a couple of walkers, too close to the fence, but her worry turned to Tyreese. If he could get out of that box, he would.

Not two minutes later the girl ran back and announced loudly, "Whatever it was, it was over quick."

With enough drugs in her system to keep her happy and clueless for the next several hours, the mother's screams ceased, her eyes drooped and Carol took even, careful breathes, steadying any tremors in her hands with sheer force of will. _This will work. They'll live, you'll prove yourself necessary. You might even be able to save Tyreese and Judith, and get Sophie out of the Mother House._

She knew it was a slim chance, but she tried to hold onto that plan as she worked. As used to blood as she was, it was still enough pressure to make her scream internally every few seconds. She did her best not to let it show on her face, and not to react when the grey-haired woman dabbed the sweat from her brow.

She followed the pathway of the old scar on the mother's abdomen. Living blood coated her hands in minutes. She hadn't bothered with gloves, wasn't entirely sure there were any available if she wanted them. The feel of it was warm. Unexpectedly, she thought of Karen and David. Remembering her surprise at the warmth. She'd killed so many walkers, but it just wasn't the same, cutting into a live body.

It went so smoothly that Carol actually said a small prayer of thanks, something she hadn't done in a long time. The baby cried and as one the entire Mother House erupted in celebration. The grey-haired doctor cuddled with the new baby while Carol sewed the mother back up, confident that she'd done everything correctly. The only risk now was infection. Their conditions couldn't be classified as sterile, but they'd done their best.

Finally, the grey-haired doctor offered to sit with the mother and baby until she awoke, to introduce them and Carol was allowed to leave. Everyone was thanking her, telling her how grateful they were that she had come. Several used the word 'god-send' with tears in their eyes. She tried to use being tired as an excuse not to join in on the excitement. She wandered down the hallway of the Mother House as the girls went back to their rooms or into the longue to continue the celebration.

Soon, it was just Carol alone outside the mother's room with Sophie, who was holding Judith.

At the far end of the hallway, they could see the doors that led back out to the rest of Terminus. A couple of armed men stood watch. Carol swallowed and approached Sophie who took a cautionary step back, her eyes on Carol's hands. Looking down, she saw that she was still red up to her elbows. All the rags and soap were still back in the room with the mother. She decided to wait to clean up.

"Are you alright?" Carol asked Sophie softly.

"I'm sorry. I should have stayed in the woods," Sophie's lip trembled. "I thought it was going to get us if we did."

Carol raised and lowered her shoulders, "Maybe it would have. If you really believed that could happen, it's good that you ran."

"They're going to rape me," Sophie said in a broken voice, so quiet that Carol felt certain that she was reading her lips, more than hearing her. Her eyes were always wet, it seemed, her features twisted in grief. "The other girls said. They said that I should just let them do whatever they want and then it won't be so bad." She cuddled tight to Judith for comfort. The baby suckled obliviously on her own fist.

She didn't realize that she was nodding for a few seconds. She tried to stop, and took a deep breath. "That's what I thought," she admitted.

"We've got to get out of here."

"We'll get out," said Carol, "We'll leave. You, me, Tyreese and Judith. We'll get out and we'll be alright on our own. You have to be brave until then."

"How long? Can't we leave before—"

"I don't know, Sophie. I'm going to try and get us out as soon as I can, but—"

She had so much she wanted to say to her. She hated how callused her voice sounded. Tyreese was right, she was too hard on Sophie, too determined for her to change, right now. Carol hadn't changed overnight; she couldn't expect it of anyone else. Sophie needed someone to look out for her, until she could look out for herself. Someone needed to tell her that even if she was helpless right now, she wouldn't be that way forever. And that even if they couldn't escape in time and she was raped that she could still be strong. She wasn't allowed to give up just because bad things happened to her.

In that moment Carol let herself love Sophie just enough that the words came to her. She would have said them, but she didn't get the chance.

Outside the Mother House gunshots began to rain onto Terminus, and this time, they didn't stop.

* * *

**The Cave - Mumford and Sons  
**


	10. Off-Road

Brady and five others were armed with one pistol, one dagger and an assault weapon each. The largest of them, who Brady called Franco, also carried a familiar katana on his back. He took a seat beside Beth.

"Michonne's not gonna be pleased about someone else layin' claim to her sword, again," Daryl didn't bother to keep his voice low, but it didn't seem like their captors were concerned about their prisoners talking. They were loaded up in a wide, open military jeep, with plenty of room in back and no seatbelts to keep them in. They pushed Beth and Daryl down on benches across from one another and surrounded them.

Beth recognized the weedy-looking guy from earlier, riding shotgun. The driver was the only other woman. She hadn't been there to yank them out of the train-car, instead she'd been waiting in the driver's seat for when they loaded them up. She hadn't so much as glanced at them through the rearview mirror. Brady took a seat uncomfortably close on Beth's other side. Across from her, Daryl was sandwiched by the last two of Brady's thugs, a couple of men who looked so much alike that Beth was sure they were brothers.

Terminus disappeared behind them. The signs on the road made it clear they were going away from what had formerly been civilization. Instead, they went deeper into the wilderness. In moments, they turned off the paved road completely, they heavy tires found traction on the uneven ground. The forest outside swallowed them whole. Growing more confused every moment, Beth tried to work out where they might be headed. They were going uphill, and the trees were getting thicker around them, so that the woman driving was obliged to slow down.

Across from her, Daryl snagged her eyes and managed to hold her still. She took a couple of deep breaths, focusing on her heartbeat rather than her surroundings. He was trying to communicate something to her. His blue eyes flickered over her shoulder. Something glinted in them. He'd looked at the big guy sitting next to her with Michonne's sword; the same blade that had decapitated her own father. Could she get to it? Even if she could, the others all had guns. Lots of guns. Neither of them even knew how to properly wield a katana.

Then again, if anyone could just 'figure it out' that person was probably Daryl Dixon.

She could grab it from Franco and toss it to Daryl; she might even be quick enough that she wouldn't get shot before the blade was in his hand. Then what? They still had all the guns. She'd taken Brady's keys from him; but taking his gun wouldn't be so simple. He had one hand resting on the handle at his hip, while his rifle was clasped in the other hand. Their daggers were left a little more open. Her only options where blades.

One mile. Two miles. Three miles… They were leaving Terminus at their backs.

The trees around them cleared out again, until they reached the bare crest of a hill. In the very center was a water-tower, converted into a lookout point. A telescope and a small team of people stood high above them. One waved to Brady and held up a walkie-talkie.

With a groan Brady reached behind his back and pulled his own walkie-talkie off his belt. "What are we looking at?"

"_Ten minutes or thereabouts. You're cutting it close. They haven't changed course at all,"_ a scratchy voice came through the walkie-talkie.

"Alright," Brady replied, "Keep an eye on things."

"_Stay in range this time, in case we have to warn you."_

Brady put the walkie-talkie away and shouted to the driver to move on. As the jeep turned about and began to descend down the other side of the crest Beth saw the reason why she and Daryl had been hauled out here.

"A herd," she stared in disbelief at the dark river of the dead weaving through the trees. They were probably about a half-mile down the hill. A few were turning, ambling more in the direction of the watchtower, but most of them were continuing straight past them, through the forest. If they kept to the same path it could easily led them right on top of Terminus.

Feeling like she'd swallowed a rock, Beth realized why they'd been brought out into the woods. The dead were _too_ close. They needed to change their course; to make sure that the herd stayed away from Terminus, and the easiest way to lead a herd away was with bait.

From the darkening expression on Daryl's face, she felt certain that he'd worked it out as well.

Sure enough, they drove right towards the herd; swiping very near the side of the snarling dead and up to the very front. The driver maneuvered expertly between the trees, even going so far as to honk the horn to get their attention.

Rotting, twisted faces swiveled around to look at them. Dead eyes found them. Whereas the walkers had been traveling slowly, hunched over and quiet except for a rolling grumble under their lack-of-breath, now they straightened up, those that still had nostrils flared them, those that didn't turned boney faces in their direction jaws snapping in anticipation.

The shrieking and stumbling started as the head of the herd sped up to try and catch the vehicle. Jerkily, the driver started and stopped the jeep a couple of times, teasing them, riling them up for the chase. The herd started to rush after them and steadily the jeep rolled through the woods, leading them far from the watchtower and pointing them away from Terminus.

Swallowing with a dry throat, Beth looked up at Daryl again. He wasn't watching the walkers; he was looking back at her instead. She hoped he had a plan because every time she tried to come up with one, she simply heard a voice inside of her head shout _try not dying!_

The chase went on for another mile before Brady seemed satisfied that the dead were far enough away from his people. "Alright," Brady banged his fist on the back of the driver's window. "They're off-track now, we're good."

The jeep sped up for about a hundred more yards, then came to a dead stop with the herd shuffling and snarling in the distance, still trying to make their way towards their prey. Brady stood up and motioned to the brothers on either side of Daryl.

With rough hands they yanked Daryl up to his feet.

"One at a time? Space them out about five hundred yards, how's that sound?" Brady shouted to the driver, who nodded in acknowledgment.

With Brady's head cocked to the side to look at the driver. Daryl grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt and tumbled backwards out of the side of the jeep. It happened so fast that Beth might have missed it if she blinked—while Franco was stunned, she grabbed the handle of the katana and tried to steal it. He grabbed a hold of her wrist but she'd still managed to create enough momentum that the blade flew right out of its scabbard, and slipped from her hand, tumbling out of the jeep and onto the ground beside the jeep's back wheel.

A gunshot went off—on the other side of the jeep the two brothers had their weapons drawn and were leaning over the side of the car, but neither of them had fired.

"Brady!?" one of them shouted, "_Shit_," he pulled the trigger, punctuating his expletive with an earsplitting blast.

"What's going on?!" the driver demanded.

Still clutching Beth's wrist, Franco leapt to the other side of the jeep, dragging Beth with him and peered over the edge. Brady was clearly dead—his head busted open with chunks of rubbery grey and red leaking out. His body was splayed out awkwardly on his stomach with his hands curled underneath him. His dagger and both his guns were gone, and so was Daryl.

"Sumbitch rolled under the jeep!" shouted one of the brothers, the other one looked in concern at the approaching herd.

For some reason, the fear in his eyes made Beth laugh out-loud, even though she was frightened herself. Startled, the brothers both looked at her, clutching their guns.

"You been feeding 'em and hidin' out for too long," Beth heard herself speaking and wasn't entirely sure where the words came from. "How long's it been since you actually had to fight one up close?"

"That's not one, that's at least four hundred," said Franco in a growl. His eyes were stilling pealing over Brady's dead body. He dragged Beth around with him as he checked the edges of the car, looking for Daryl.

From the ground beside the jeep, the scratchy voice came through the walkie-talkie, _"Part of the herd is still lagging, you didn't turn them enough! Keep going!"_

"What did he say?" one of the brother's paled.

"It's not even as big as the herd that ran us out of our last place," Beth scoffed, though admittedly as she watched the dead ambling closer she knew that was probably a lie.

_"Brady, do you copy?"_

"Andrah, get in gear and run him over!" yelled Franco, immediately his demeanor changed; with Brady dead, he was electing himself leader while he had the chance.

Obediently, the driver shifted.

Beth tried to leap out of the jeep, but Franco had a firm hold on her wrist still and seemed to forestall this reaction.

As the car peeled away, Daryl rolled out from underneath it. Immediately, Beth noticed dark stains in the dirt, they were leaving a wet trail behind them; gasoline. As Daryl rose up she saw that he had both Brady's guns, and dagger. He'd used the knife to puncture their gas tank, just in case they tried to do exactly what they had done. He wasn't going to let them take Beth away from him again. Scooping up Michonne's katana, he tore up the hill after them.

"You guys are screwed," saying a silent prayer of thanks that her ankle was healed, Beth anticipated the inevitable game of hide and seek that would have to follow, she needed to outrun the dead—they all would.

"_Shit_," the big guy saw where she pointed on the ground.

"Depending on your corroborator and fuel pump, you might get in a mile or two before the engine stops… you might not," she could see him working it out in his head, his jaw getting taut. She ripped her wrist away from him and fell back into her seat. Her heart pounding as she watched Daryl getting smaller behind them. He'd started running, chasing after them. "So, are you gonna led the herd away from Terminus and risk getting stranded out here 'em, or will you to turn back and maybe let the dead follow you home?"

The big guy's eyes went hard against her face. The brothers shifted nervously.

From the passenger seat, the weedy guy was arguing with the driver—it seemed he'd noticed that they were losing fuel too, and was trying to alert her to the problem before they got themselves trapped in the forest.

"Plan's the same," he finally growled, "We give 'em something a distraction, so we can get away. STOP!" he shouted.

The driver slammed on the breaks, the weedy guy cried out in protest and she shouted back at him to shut up. Without Brady, it seemed they were going to fall into chaos.

"What are you doing?!" one of the brothers smacked Franco.

In response he shoved him back onto the bench and loaded his rifle.

Knowing that it might be her only chance, Beth gripped the edge of the jeep and jumped out. She hit the ground hard, her knees giving out, so she landed in the dirt with both palms out to catch herself. They ignored her, they had bigger problems now.

She started into a run towards Daryl. When she was still about thirty yards away, something ripped past her. She felt the force of it almost knock her over and heard the blast rattle all through her head. Daryl was knocked back off his feet.

Not bothering to turn around, Beth kept running, a scream of denial in the back of her throat. Making sure that he couldn't run away, Franco had taken aim and hit Daryl just above his knee. The jeep's engine revved and she heard it rambling off into the forest, leaving the two of them and Brady's body to feed to horde.

Grey, rotting bodies seemed to stretch on endlessly down the hill before them. Most of the cavalcade of walking corpses weren't aware of their prey yet, but the fastest—those at the head of the herd—sped up, shrieking as they smelled fresh spilled blood and living flesh, drenched in panicked sweat.

Beth tore her eyes away and looked at Daryl instead.

"Go _on_!" He tried to push her away with the hand that wasn't clutching his own leg. Blood seeped through his fingers.

"_No!_ I'm not running," Beth grabbed Daryl's arm and threw it over her shoulder, but his weight was too much for her to run; they only made it about four stumbling steps before he shoved her onwards, up the hill.

"I'll slow you down, go!" He collapsed on the ground. As his knee struck the dirt, a spurt of red gushed through his torn pant-leg. He was pale and trembling. She'd never seen him this hurt. He could barely walk.

Uprooting her legs was impossible. Her heart seemed to have stopped for the moment. She knew that she might just be able to race the herd to safety. Daryl was too large a man, too heavy for her to carry, and too badly inured to outrun the dead.

"Get the hell away!" Daryl had a talent for hiding fear, and Beth had a talent for seeing it anyway.

They had only just found one another again. Last time they were separated, he told her to run and she obeyed, even though she had a sick feeling in her heart. Beth had that same feeling now. She wasn't going to run away while Daryl Dixon was drowned in an unholy mountain of walkers. Resolved, she shook her head and fell into him. Her arms tightened around his chest, even as he tried to pry her off. Both of them fell back into the dirt, she buried her face in his neck. She didn't care that he was still shouting at her to go, calling her a stupid, dead bitch; begging her to run and not look back no matter what she heard.

The moaning and exciting shrieks of the dead grew louder as the fastest of the herd lurched into their clearing. Finally, she defeated him. His arms closed around her, trembling but firm, his fingers laced into her hair.

His breath came in gasps right by her ear, "I missed you so bad when you were gone, Beth Greene."

Beth wouldn't leave him again. She'd rather be torn apart.

* * *

**All You Wanted - Michelle Branch**


	11. Call to Arms

"Stay here Sophia." She heard it, but didn't have time to savor the heartbreak, or to dwell on the mistake. All the same, it was just the blow to rattle Carol as she charged towards danger. The doors of the Mother House were left unguarded as the armed men stationed outside sprinted to help defend their fellow Termites.

"_Don't leave me!_"

Judith began to cry as Sophie shrieked after Carol.

She didn't turn back. It could be dangerous, it could also be their only shot to get out of Terminus while they were distracted with whoever was shooting at them, but Carol couldn't bring herself to bring Judith and Sophie outside until she was sure that the way was clear, besides, Tyreese was the one locked down. She should get him out first, then go back for the girls. It would be much easier to get them out of the Mother House than it would be to get him out of that train-car.

Terminus was rapidly turning into a warzone.

She could see that most of the shooting seemed to be concentrated right around some of the train-cars. "Tyreese," she sprinted, falling into step with the two Termite soldiers. If either of them noticed that she was unarmed and running towards a fight, they didn't react. She was red up to elbows. She would look like she belonged.

As they rounded a building together she caught her first glimpse of who it was firing on Terminus. Her jaw dropped just as the two Termite soldiers dropped to their knees and raised their weapons to fire.

Michonne was half-hidden behind a train-car, firing an automatic weapon at a group of soldiers on the roof.

The Termite on Carol's left took aim and fired.

Dust kicked up just behind Michonne and she ducked all the way behind the train-car. Two more bullets ricocheted off the corner of the box.

Carol threw her fist into the back of the soldier on her right's head, snatching the gun as he fell—when hhe started to get up she drove the butt into his forehead. The other soldier grabbed her from behind, arms squeezed painfully across her throat. Inadvertently her finger closed on the trigger and a rapid-fire of five shots went off one right after another, knocking them both back into the dirt. She slammed her head backwards into the soldier's face and rolled off, firing another round into his head.

Michonne had been keeping the soldiers on the roof occupied, so they hadn't noticed the scuffle just yet, but she could see that Michonne had, her eyes were tight on Carol, even as she continued firing randomly at the roof—giving her cover.

Nodding at her to let her know that she understood, Carol prepared to bolt, snatching up a machete and the other rifle from the soldiers she'd killed.

The gunfire was ear-splitting, but she was still able to hear Michonne yell out, "Where are Tyreese and Judith?!" as she dove behind the train-car.

Hitting the dirt hard, the wind was knocked out of her and it took a moment to answer, she passed over the machete and one of the guns, Michonne had to be getting low on ammo. "Judith is safe for now. I've got to go back for her. Tyreese is in car 'D'. You knew we were here?" she gasped.

"Beth saw you when she was trying to sneak out."

"She didn't make it?"

Michonne's jaw set at that. Beth had made it out of the prison which was miraculous enough, but she could guess now what Michonne's silence meant. The girl had died here, or been taken away. She hadn't seen her with the Mothers, which meant that they'd probably killed her when she tried to escape.

To the east, more bullets crackled in the air. "Who is here?" Carol hoped that there would be time later to figure out how they'd all ended up at Terminus.

"Rick, Carl, Maggie, Glen, Sasha, Bob and some new folks."

"Daryl isn't here?" his was the name she'd been listening for. If anyone could have gotten out of that mess, it was Daryl. When Michonne hadn't mentioned him, she could only hope that he'd been wise enough not to get pulled into Terminus' trap with the rest of them.

Michonne shook her head against, maintaining the same stoic silence as when she'd asked about Beth.

"You never saw him? He didn't come here?" she grabbed her shoulder, trying to control the tremor in her voice.

"He's _gone_," she said firmly, "With Beth. They took them."

Numbness washed over her and she could only nod. They didn't know. Maybe they would never know, but there was a chance he was alive.

They could hear approaching feet marching quickly towards them from the other side of the train-car. They had paused long enough in their firing that the Termites must have been starting to think that they were nearly out of bullets.

Not waiting for them to attack first, Michonne shoved the barrel of her gun around the side of the car and popped off the balance of her ammo in one long ear-splitting string. Over the ringing, Carol could hear screams of pain that told her she'd hit at least two people. Dropping the gun, Michonne hefted the rifle that Carol had brought for her in one hand, while the other appreciated the weight of the machete.

It was bizarre to see Michonne without her sword. She was glaring at the smaller blade, reluctant to have it as her companion in this fight. Resigned, she propped it up above her shoulder, ready to strike.

Carol poked her head around the train-car. The small team meant to take them in close quarters was still about twelve feet away. Two of them were on the ground, the other four were approaching with more caution, ready to zig-zag if the guns reappeared. One of them fired right at Carol's face, but she drew back in time, releasing a painfully held breath.

"Where are the others?" They needed back-up.

"They're trying to get themselves an escape, drive right through the gate. There's some military jeeps parked around the side of their camp." Michonne cocked her head towards the other side of the train-car.

Silently understanding that she thought other soldiers would be sneaking around the side, Carol took a few shuffling, rapid steps towards the opposite corner, before falling to one knee and taking precautionary aim.

"I took it upon myself to figure out where their armory was. It seems to be this building right here," her eyes swiveled to the other side of the train-car. "That's where I'm seeing soldiers run to get their guns, at least."

In perfect unison, a soldier appeared on either side of the train-car. Carol opened fire without hesitation, while Michonne surprised her attacker by rushing him down, Machete to the forehead in one quick, devastating blow. She wrenched the blade free then had to jump back as his companion fired on her.

Carol's attacker was just a boy, maybe seventeen. When he hit the dirt, blood leaking form his head, she had to push away a heart-pang. There had only been four of them left, they needed two to hang back and give the signal, that meant there were still two more soldiers to deal with, then there were the ones on the roof…

"I've got an idea!" Michonne shouted to her. "Don't kill the last one, just take his weapon."

Carol had the same idea. Grim but determined, she pulled the knife off the boot of the kid and took the corner at a sprint. She collided with the other soldier and stabbed him high in the shoulder while ripping his gun away. He was young too, he shrieked in her ear in pain, she whirled around him and plunged the knife high in his back on the other side—once again, not a killing blow, but painful in the extreme. All the while she could feel the bullets whizzing past her from the soldiers on the roof.

With the screaming Termite soldier on the end of her dagger, she hid herself behind him and pushed forward at a run—forcing him to walk, even as bullets struck him. Soon, she was responsible for the whole weight of his body. The gunmen on the roof continued firing, shredding the body. She tried to kept holding him up by the knife in his back and the belt at his hips, but after a few lurching steps she had to make a run straight for the far wall.

Michonne had used the last soldier as a human-shield as well. The two of them dropped their bodies and slammed into the outside wall of the armory at the exact same moment. The gunmen were craning over the side now to fire on them straight down, but Michonne grabbed her arm and together they hauled ass straight to the doors.

They burst into the armory firing already. Carol counted ten Termites inside groping for weapons, amongst an overwhelming stockpile; a good-sized warehouse of high ceilings, tickled by gunmetal, bullets and other jewels of war.

They caught a few of them by surprise, but quickly had to take cover behind a shelf stacked with hunting rifles.

"I think we'll be more effective on the roof, don't you?" Michonne cocked her head towards the stairwell.

A box of grenades caught Carol's eye on the opposite shelf. "I'll cover you." Swiping the grenade right on top quickly she split into the opposite isle at Michonne in order to avoid the rapidly approaching Termites. Carol pulled out the pin and threw the grenade as far away from Michonne as she could, unsure how powerful the blast would be in the more contained space.

The answer was, very powerful. Carol couldn't even hear the death-cries of the Termites because her head was stuck in one long sustained ringing, like she hadn't covered her ear and hit the floor at all. She'd been pushed by the force of the air. Anyone close had been hurled towards the nearest jagged pile of guns. Michonne had even been knocked off her feet, though she was furthest from the blast. She scrambled upright and disappeared up the stairwell, her gun raised and her Machete at the ready.

She weaved between the shelves, eyes searching for survivors. She could hear some moans, but it looked like everyone was either dead or dying, aside from two rapidly moving dark figures who she could just barely make out on the opposite side of the armory. She ducked low as she made her way through the isles, determined to kill every last one of them as quickly as she could and then go help Michonne on the roof.

A collection of daggers caught her eye with a glint. They were laid out flat on a table, though many of them had fallen to the floor when the grenade went off. A familiar friend was amongst them. She snatched up her old dagger, her fingers finding their place within the handle, which doubled as brass-knuckles.

Just in time, she heard a clatter from one isle over and realized that she was about to be ambushed. She whirled around just in time to see him rounding the corner and fired, shuffling backwards and to the side to avoid his bullets.

The last Termite in the armory came out from the other side of the isle, taking a lesson from Michonne to heart, she rushed him, plunging her recently rescued knife right into his neck as he fired into the air behind her.

She hit the ground still on top of the dying man and stabbed him twice more in the head for good measure. For a moment she lay there gasping on top of him, realizing that she'd needed to catch her breath for several minutes now. She didn't have time to waste, she planted her hands on the floor and started to stand up—then she saw it.

Low to the ground, shoved in with a jumble of other fallen weapons was a familiar crossbow, still armed with its bolts.

_There's no point. He's dead._ She convulsed inwardly at the thought, but she had to accept that it was a possibility that she'd never see Daryl again. "I'll take it anyway," she murmured to herself. Hanging the crossbow over her back, she gleaned as much as she could carry from the armory, ammunition, guns and grenades. One other item caught her eye, but it was too heavy for her to carry it up to the roof on this trip.

Once she was burdened with a small arsenal, Carol took the stairs at a run. As she approached the doors onto the roof she could hear shots still being fired. "Please, Michonne," she prayed quietly, "Be alright."

Michonne was more than alright. She was alone on the roof, surrounded by five recently deceased Termites. Beside her she had two guns already emptied and discarded. She emptied a third, firing at the nearest roof to take out the other snipers. She dropped the gun unceremoniously into the spent pile and plucked up another to continue firing.

Carol dropped everything onto the roof. "I'll be right back!" she sprinted down the stairs into the armory, returning in two minutes flat with a rocket-launcher.

Michonne's eyes went wide when she saw, "Make sure you don't aim that anywhere near our people!"

"I'm just going to clear all the rooftops," Carol explained.

In seconds, Terminus was on fire.

* * *

**Glory and Gore - Lorde**


	12. Survivors

If there had been any time to think at all, then Beth would have thought that this plan was about the most insane thing that anyone ever conceived of; it came from the mind of Daryl Dixon. Armed with Brady's grave-robbed knife and rifle, she followed Daryl's lead.

Limping all the while, Daryl chopped off Brady's arms and legs with Michonne's katana and used the scraps of meat to satiate the walkers as they made their way uphill, breaking up the head of the horde. They started picking off the easy ones; the walkers that were a little removed from the others—and the ones that were too fast. Daryl shouted at Beth to lie back against a tree and she didn't even question it, not even after he tossed one of the bodies on top of her, and then another.

In a few mad seconds, she started to catch on to what he was doing. As more walkers approached her, Daryl killed them too, or he made sure that she would be able to stick them with her dagger or shoot them with Brady's riffle from her half-buried vantage point. Gradually, the pile of the dead around her grew higher and wider. Daryl had only fired off five rounds from Brady's pistol, he still had three to spend, but he was saving them. He'd stowed the gun in his belt and used Michonne's sword to hack through corpse skulls and skew them through the eyes. Drenched in sweat, he stumbled on the boarder of the growing hill of bodies. Gore dripped from his hair, goatee and the tip of his nose. His bad leg was shaking every time to put weight on it, but it hadn't failed him yet. Between the streaks of filth his skin was troubling white. He was losing blood and breath.

"Daryl! That's enough, _get in here_!" Beth shouted. The bulk of the herd was less than fifty yards downhill. So far, they'd only met the quick ones, who ran out front. A stumbling wall of the dead was steam-rolling ever closer and once it hit, there would be too many of them. Fifty yards was cutting it too close.

For a moment, it looked like Daryl would ignore her, or like he couldn't hear her in the first place, either because the moans of the dead were too loud, or because he was too enveloped in the act of brutally slaughtering the head of the horde. He leaned on Michonne's sword, his bad leg nearly collapsing beneath him. Ahead of them, three smaller groups of walkers were still detained by Brady's chopped limbs that Daryl had thrown to them, further down the hill, a pack of about twenty feasted on his torso.

Snarling, another walker climbed towards her from across the pile of corpses, "_Daryl_!" she stabbed it in the face as it snapped at her, reaching with broken fingers. The weight of this new body collapsed right on top of her. She groaned, shifted as best she could and looked up again to see Daryl climbing into the pile beside her.

He winced as he shoved one body aside to settle in next to her, working his way below two layers of corpses. He tucked his injured leg in first, and with Beth's help, heaved another body right on top.

The nearest group of walkers had finished off Brady's arm and were starting to make their way towards them. Exchanging identical I-sure-as-shit-hope-this-works-looks, Beth and Daryl wriggled underneath the dead, pulling more bodies around them until they were completely buried.

Even from underneath the pile, Daryl shoved Michonne's katana up to take care of the more aggressive and agile walkers that managed to crawl across the pile to where fresh meat still breathed in stinking air. The weight of them was crushing, but the tree behind them helped. Shifting bodies around from underneath, they were able to create a kind of tight, dark, horrifying lean-to, using the trunk and roots to take some of the pressure off. There was just enough air that they didn't actually suffocate, and just enough light that she could see Daryl lying flat on his back next to her. His hand was in a fist, while his elbow dug into the ground next to him propping a corpse a few inches above his face.

She tried to do the same, but her hand shook and her wrist bent after just a few minutes, even with the support of the ground beneath her, it was too much weight uncomfortably pressing against her arm. Her wrist began to strain and the corpse head dipped low until what was left of the walker's nose was nuzzled into her chest.

The groans and shuffling march of the dead grew louder around them as the bulk of the herd passed by, but that was all they did; they walked right passed them.

"This is crazy," Beth dared to whisper.

With the hand that wasn't supporting the weight above him, Daryl raised a finger to his lips.

After living in this world for so long, Beth thought she'd gotten used to the stench of death. She thought she'd gotten used to slick chunks of blood and flesh clinging to her, but the weight of the dead on top of her made her breath come in short, which made her light-headed. It felt like they were being slowly crushed, for weeks, by all of it; the smell of death, like a hand trying to wriggle its way down her throat, the oppressive, churning growls and moans, the gore dripping onto them steadily.

She watched Daryl, because she was afraid that he'd lost too much blood from the wound in his leg; she wanted to see that his eyes were still open, still burning back at her in the fading strips of light that wormed their way between the bodies on top of them.

Even after the forest returned to tranquility, and the sky darkened, they didn't move right away.

"I can't believe this worked," Beth grinned at Daryl, "How'd you think of it?"

"Uhduno," Daryl murmured back at her, "Sometimes I don't sleep so good, instead I think about stuff like this. You know, worst possible case kinda shit."

"How's your leg?"

"Hurts like a bitch, but it didn't hit me straight on and it ain't bleeding no more. You breathin' okay?"

"If you can call it that." Every time she needed to get her breath she pushed the body directly on top of her up at least a half-inch or so and filled her lungs before she let it fall. There were other bodies crossing them horizontally, so the weight was pretty immense. Her arms burned. As tough and strong as Daryl was, she felt pretty certain that he would be getting exhausted as well. If they didn't dig themselves out soon, they would be too fatigued and possibly pass out and suffocate underneath their protective pile of corpses.

As if reading her thoughts, Daryl began to shift the bodies directly on top of them. Beth wriggled into the space between them and sat up. She tried to count the number of walkers in the pile but stopped at twenty-one, deciding that there wasn't a point in knowing. The rest of the forest around them was utterly deserted and quiet except for the wind shaking the leaves. She took in what felt like her first proper breath in a long time. Next to her, Daryl moaned. He was nearly up, but the weight of four corpses pressed down on his injured leg and as he leaned forward to push the first one off, she saw him grind his teeth.

Beth struggled to her feet and heaved the first body off of him and then the next. With only two of them he was able to squeeze out, releasing a moan mingled with a vulgar curse. She helped him stand and together they crawled out of the pile.

Once they were clear of the little make-shift corpse hut, a clap from above was the only warning they got before a cloud burst open. Daryl gripped Beth's shoulder and knelt down on the ground, taking her with him and breathing heavily. By the time they were both settled in the dirt, fat raindrops pelted them from above.

* * *

**This Must Be The Place - The Lumineers**


	13. Glad to be Alive

Daryl stripped off his vest, with its familiar wings on the back, sticky with gore from the walkers he'd butchered. His jacket came off next, underneath the muscles in his arms were bulging from the recent physical exertion. A little bit of heat poured into Beth's face, but he didn't seem to notice, so she didn't look away.

His sleeveless shirt was fairly clean, having been protected by the outer layers of clothing. He ripped one side of it, leaving it hanging open and revealing the tattoo on the back of his shoulder. She'd often seen the edges peak out through his clothing, but this was the first time she saw it in full; two demons reached towards one another from across his right shoulder-blade. All over his back he had a number of old raised scars, like lashes from a belt.

Over the last few years she'd seen countless baths of blood. She'd witnessed acts of violence and brutality that sent her crying into the corners of her mind. She'd grown used to it; carved out a place for horror in her soul where she could think about it and accept it without letting it terrorize her. Daggers through the eyes, skin between teeth and charred flesh didn't make her squirm anymore, but for some reason looking at Daryl's old scars chilled her.

Carol and Daryl were close, and Beth had wondered on occasion if their closeness had anything to do with similar demons in their pasts. Carol never made her husband's abuse of her a secret. Beth had met Daryl's brother before he died; Merle had the stink on him too. Someone who was supposed to love these boys had hurt them bad.

Growing tense and anxious as he finally noticed her staring at his body, Daryl twisted the ripped fabric in his hands, looking at her sideways.

Scooting closer, she reached out, "Here, let me," Beth took the impromptu tourniquet from his hands, all caked with dirt and walker gore.

With effort, he straightened out his injured leg. She dug her fingers into the hole of his trousers and ripped it just enough that she could make sure she was covering the whole wound with the tourniquet. She tied it the way her daddy had shown her as Daryl put his jacket and his vest back on.

They were soaked through and the rain seemed to keep coming down, stronger than ever, but it felt amazing. Beth tilted her head back and opened her mouth, swallowing the drops of rain to wet her throat.

His hair was flat against his head and the tracks of blood were washing clean off his face as the rain continued to drench him. He sat hunched over on the ground, taking on the demeanor of a dog, unhappy at being bathed.

"You alright to walk?" Beth tried to calculate how far away from Terminus they were, it would be downhill, at least.

"I'll be slow, but yeah."

"What do we do once we get there?" She wanted to have a plan to get the others out, but what Daryl really needed was stitches and time to heal. Then again, the others couldn't wait; they had to get them far away from Terminus before any of them were killed.

"We go to where Rick hid the guns; if the stash is still there, then Sasha either couldn't find it or she didn't make it…" he shook himself, wiping his wet hair off his face. "If the guns are gone then that means she's got the weapons to them and they're planning to fight their way out. We got to be there to back 'em up. Even if Sasha got the guns, she could've got caught. If Terminus has those weapons now, it's up to us to change that."

"How long's it been?" Beth looked up at the sky, it was dark now, but it could have just been the rainclouds, it was hard to say if the sun had set or not.

"Long enough that we don't have time to sit around, 'specially since we been layin' down all damn day." In spite of this declaration, Daryl didn't move to stand up. It hadn't exactly been relaxing, being slowly crushed under a pile of corpses, but it had saved their lives, so she wasn't about to complain.

"Well, let's get on then!" Beth slapped both her knees and helped Daryl up to his feet. He shifted to try putting weight on his leg again and nodded as he was able to take a single, halting step.

Beth knelt down and felt at the tourniquet to make sure it was staying firmly in place. Tipping her head back, she caught raindrops on her cheeks. His eyes met hers and he brushed at a smudge on her face, his fingers slow and unsure. He tried to step away but she caught him. Gently, she touched her lips to the tourniquet.

She felt that same urge that had almost bowled her over when she first saw him in the train-car; she wanted to be with him, wanted to feel him close to her. She couldn't know how he would react to her throwing herself at him, but she had the feeling they were both about to find out. He froze solid the moment she'd kissed the tourniquet.

She took a hold of each of his arms and got back to her feet. For days, she felt like she was connected to live-wires. It was always time to act, to jump, to fight or be killed, she hadn't gotten much time to really think, though she'd tried to during her confinement in the hospital. Every second was dominated by a desire to run, or hide, or just survive a little longer. Even now, they weren't through it yet. They were headed right back into the fire.

Beth Greene was never going to get another moment to think again, at this rate. Drawing in a deep breath she gave herself the space of that steady inhale and exhale to take it all in. For the moment, neither of them was dying and they were together again. Like he'd always done, he threw everything he had into protecting her. "Last man standing," she said with a smile.

He didn't return it. Slowly, Daryl moved his head back and forth, "Stop." He wasn't joking.

The pain in his eyes was enough to make her feel ashamed. She couldn't help but think it; he was so good at living in this world.

"If I was alone. Again…" he trailed off looking down at the space between them. "I wouldn't've made it without you," he grumbled.

"It probably would have been _easier_ without me," Beth tried to correct him with a little logic that she'd pulled out of her ass, "you wouldn't have had to bury me first, you could've just covered yourself in walkers and—"

"Stop," he said again. "That's not how it is. That's never how it is. After that car drove off with you…" he backed away from her unsteadily, his bad leg smarting visibly as it shook.

She stepped forward and grabbed a hold of his shoulder to keep him upright. He seemed torn between pushing her back and keeping a firm grip on her for support.

"After he took you, I just _ran_. I chased that road until my legs gave. I don't even know how far—" he cut himself off with a groan as he nearly stumbled, trying to take another shuffling step away from her. "I was there in the middle of the road when these guys come up on me, all _predatory_. I knew they were probably gonna kill me and for a minute, I didn't care. I just let 'em right up close."

She could see it in her mind's eye; his shoulders rounded, the wings on the back of his vest dropping inward, flightless, his head bowed and his bow down.

"I snapped out of it," he shrugged with the arm that wasn't stiff against her shoulder, "But _hell_, Beth. Alone? I'm lost. I'm just not a good enough reason to keep fighting."

She felt like she couldn't breathe again, like the weight of all those bodies was suddenly pressing down on her chest again. "You were my reason." Before she'd seen Tyreese, she'd pushed aside her hopes that the rest of her group had made it out of the prison alright. She wanted them to be alive, but buried the possibility, because it wasn't important right now; she couldn't know one way or another.

Daryl was a different story. She knew he was alright, because he had to be. The whole time she tried to find a way out of Terminus it had been with the goal of getting back to him. To hear that he'd come so close to giving up shattered her heart. Picturing a few years back, she remembered Maggie shouting at her with tears in her eyes when she learned that Beth was contemplating suicide. Finally, she thought she understood some of that anger.

Giving up wasn't allowed. "You were my reason," she said again, her eyes boring into his. "You've got to protect yourself as much as you'd protect me or Rick or Judith or Carol or anyone else, you hear me?"

_Where's my 'yes ma'am'?_ He just stared back at her, blue eyes defiant; stoic and stubborn as iron, he still steadied himself against her shoulder with one trembling hand.

Setting both her hands around his waist she pressed her face into his neck. "Maybe that's just the way it is now. Maybe none of us are ever going to live for ourselves again." Her lips brushed right up against his skin. He was rigid at first, but gradually she felt him collapsing onto her, his arms slid into place behind her neck and around her waist.

"We've gotta go get to the others," said Daryl, but he didn't pull away, the rain was easing up around them, but by now they were both soaked and shivering.

"Yeah we do," murmured Beth. "They ain't gonna see us comin' neither."

"No reason in the world to think our sorry asses are still alive," he chuckled into her hair.

Rising to her toes, she pressed her lips against his, soft and light. "I'm so glad I found you."

Blood-loss robbed him of any blush she might have gotten to see on his battered face. Instead, he stumbled over a couple of half-words and finally managed to grumble out a, "Why'd you go and do that?"

In lieu of telling him exactly what he should already have figured out by now, she planted her mouth over his again, parting her lips slightly to invite him in. With that little bit of coaxing he gave in to her, massaging his lips against hers, as his hands made their way around her.

After a moment his breathing began to get labored and he pulled back, shaking his head as he took an unsteady step out of her reach.

"What's the matter? Is it your leg?" Her cheeks burned and she was light-headed; the question came out slurred.

"Leg's still a whiny little bitch," he muttered, "It ain't that." He swore under his breath and straightened up, turning away with a shake of his head.

"…Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

"Nah," he assured her without turning around, "You're perfect." He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he gestured downhill a ways. "If I take advantage of you, how am I any different from that motherless bastard?"

She followed where he pointed, to the meatless, scattered bones still visible in the dirt; it was all that was left of Brady.

"How are you different?" she repeated back to him, her jaw dropped. "For a start, I like you, and you ain't a cannibal."

"It really boiled my blood, what he did. Tryin' to convince you that you need him—that you ain't never gonna make it without help—that you _owe_ him whatever he might like from you." He wiped a trickle of rainwater from the side of his mouth, "I don't want you to feel that way about me. You don't owe me nothin'."

She whirled around to stand in front of him and gripped his belt. He tried to get out of her reach in time, but with his leg he was too slow. He groaned in defeat as she parked herself there, tilting her face back enough to look up into his eyes. "You ain't like him at all—back when it was you and me on our own, you protected me but you never coddled me. Never tried to control me. I remember, before I figured out what you were doing, I was so pissed at you!" she laughed and slid her hands around his middle again. "A walker would attack me and I'd wait for you to kill it, but you always took your time, forcing me to fight and get stronger. You ain't the kind of man who needs the people around him to be weak in order to feel strong. You protected me, you made me stronger and you never used me or demanded anything from me. You're a good man."

Shaking his head, Daryl looked at her sideways, eyes downcast, "Nah, I ain't. If I was any kind of good man I wouldn't be putting my hands on you like that; I know I ain't no good for you."

He still didn't get it. She was going to have to tell him. "I didn't kiss you because I'm grateful to you for savin' my ass a hundred times over. I kissed you because I've wanted to since just about the moment you rode up to my daddy's farmhouse on that motorcycle. I know I'm young—"

"It's not that _you're_ young, it's that _I'm_ a dirty old redneck who shouldn't ever be lookin' at you." Daryl tried to pull away from her again, but she wasn't having it.

"I don't even know how old you are—and I don't care, actually. Don't tell me. It don't matter." She was speaking right into his chest as she held onto him. "Maybe it started out as a stupid crush, but I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a survivor, just like you." Worried that he still wasn't listening to her, she leaned her head back to catch a glimpse of his face.

His jaw was still set, but his eyes met hers, he looked torn. Inside he was being pulled in different directions. It wasn't enough that he wanted her, he needed to believe that it was alright.

"I'm a grown woman, Mr. Dixon. I killed two men today. I fought walkers. I'm getting pretty good with your crossbow. I proved I can hold my liquor," she grinned.

"The _one_ time you got drunk, you burned down a house," Daryl argued but she could see the slightest impression of a grin fighting its way onto his face.

"_We_ burned it down."

"Got me there, Greene." He leaned in, his forehead meeting hers, but he hesitated, she could feel him holding his breath, his heart thumping right up against hers.

The smile left her face; she thought she could read his mind again. If she didn't cling to him, he would push her away. He would think it was for her own good. If she wanted him, she couldn't let up, even though it wouldn't always be easy to hang onto him. But he was worth it. "I care about you. I want you. I love you. That's why I kissed you. That, and because we could get separated again, or trapped by another herd, or shot or _crushed_… we got more of the ugly and bad ahead. We're always right on the edge, and I don't want to lose you again without you knowin' how I feel."

One hand cupped her face, his thumb brushed along her jaw up to her lips, "That's how you feel?"

Turning her head, she pressed her lips into the hollow of his hand.

Still holding onto either side of her neck, he gradually brought his face right up to hers until their noses touched, his lips hovering just in front of hers. She could feel the warmth between them and closed her eyes, in anticipation. For several seconds he lingered there, teasing her. His facial hair tickled as he hovered, barely touching her.

* * *

**Demons - Imagine Dragons**


	14. Destination?

The second that Carol saw the walkers, she should have run back for Judith. She felt the urge like a kick to her gut, but she didn't leave. She and Michonne were doing a lot to dominate the fight with the Termites from their vantage point on the roof of the armory. Twice, groups of Termite soldiers tried to get into the armory to take it back from them, but the first time they managed to shot all but one of them before they even made it to the doors (the last one, Michonne took care of in close quarters) and the second group met the last grenade at the bottom of the stairwell.

Their main objective, after they cleared the other rooftops was to take out any immediate threats to Rick and the others. They used the long-range guns to explode heads that were two close to their people, aiming too precisely.

Rick and a large red-headed man who she didn't know, but who Michonne referred to as Abraham were going from train-car to train-car, letting the captives escape to increase their numbers against Terminus. Fast as he was famous for, Glenn rushed into the armory three times and came away with weapons to arm the enemies of Terminus.

Maggie, Sasha and two other unfamiliar women seemed to be looking for something. She kept losing track of them as they sprinted through Terminus' camp, having many narrow misses, as they were so hard to keep track of, it made being their guardian angels especially difficult. Finally, she figured out their objective. They were looking for keys.

Finally, they had a jeep, but now everyone was spread out.

One Termite managed to get too close without either Michonne or Carol seeing them until Maggie was thrown backwards. She clutched her thigh with both hands, screaming. As one, both women aimed and knocked the attacker into the ground with two simultaneous shots. His gun hit the ground with a clatter. Carol's heart sank when she saw the caliber. Maggie was out of the fight for sure.

Bob tended to her leg in the back of the jeep they'd chosen. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it must have been bad. At least she hadn't been hit in the torso.

That's when the walkers flooded into the camp. She didn't see the breech until it was too late. One of the far fences was down. The walkers had probably heard the gun-fire and gathered. With a lot of them in one spot, they could take down chain-link. They'd seen it before. "We gotta go," Michonne gathered a few of the most essential weapons, along with Daryl's crossbow, which she hang over her shoulder without hesitation, "Come on, Carol, we've got to go!"

Carol fired one last shot at a walker that was on the verge of sneaking up on Carl. "Go on without me, I've got to go back for Judith and Sophie—go!"

Michonne didn't try to fight her on it. She vanished and Carol stayed to cover her from the roof as she made her way to the jeep, weighed down with so many weapons, she wasn't as fast as she normally was. With a sigh of relief, Carol watched Michonne through the rising smoke as she collapsed with the guns into the back of the jeep. Glenn and the new girls were rounding everyone up, leading them back to the jeeps. As the walkers and the fire continued to eat their camp, many of the Termites were fleeing.

That was when she saw it. Through her scoop, the grey-haired doctor was running to a grey Saturn, a bundle in her arms. With a sickening jolt, Carol recognized the blanket that Judith had been wrapped in back at the Mother's House.

She grabbed her guns and ran, but by the time she was back on the ground, the Saturn was long gone. The grey-haired woman had fled the camp, and she'd taken Judith with her. They'd just have to catch her.

She headed back to the Mother House first, weaving between stumbling walkers, killing them when they started to cluster too close together and converge on her—she broke her way through one group and coughed, a hacking, smoke-filled cough. The fires were all on the roof, high above her, but the smoke was still getting thicker, even this close to the ground.

The Mother House was locked down. She ran around every entrance. Growing more desperate as the immediate area filled with walkers and smoke. She was already exhausted, she wouldn't be able to outrun and tug Sophie along with her—even if she could find her.

_"Don't leave me!"_ Sophie's final plea echoed in her mind, but she knew she had to do it.

The Mother House was locked up tight. Maybe the herd would move on. They couldn't get through the brick and mortar. Sophie might live, if she left her here, but they would both probably die if she stayed any longer.

With an instinctive battle-cry she beat her way past two walkers who'd gotten a little too close and forced herself to run, though her lungs were burning and her legs shook. More of them lurched out at her, but they were distracted by the fires, and couldn't keep track of her in the growing disorder.

Up ahead the roar of an engine forced her to change direction. "OVER HERE!" she wheezed her next lungful of air in as she veered towards where the engine had sounded. She desperately hoped it was her people and not Termites.

"CAROL!" she heard Tyreese bellow.

As the jeep rambled up beside her, Tyreese jumped out and caught her as she nearly collapsed. "Are you alright? You bit?!"

"I'm fine!" she gasped and grabbed a hold of Tyreese's hands, hers were slick with sweat. He helped to hoist her into the jeep.

"Where's Sophie?! I gotta get her—"

"She's dead!" It came so naturally that she didn't even have to think about it.

Tyreese's face looked stricken with guilt and sorrow. The hesitated to pull himself up into the car, though the others were shouting at him to hurry, coughing through the thickening smoke.

"She's dead, Tyreese."

It was simple. Tyreese wouldn't leave if he knew Sophie was still alive inside the Mother House. They needed to leave. She was saving him. She had to do it.

* * *

Once Beth and Daryl made it to the road, the sun had set. They had come at Terminus sideways, to try and cut out a half-mile or so from the trek. A steadily darkening column of mist in the distance was visible. It looked like it came from Terminus. The air was thick with the smoky smell of fire. "Something went down," Beth said hopefully, "Maybe it's them. Maybe Sasha helped them bust out already and they're fightin' Terminus."

"I can sure as hell say it ain't a barbeque. That's arson." Daryl had his arm across her shoulder so he could walk without putting too much weight on his injured leg. They didn't pause in their march for breaks and still they were able to move a lot faster than she would have thought. "Check it out," he cocked his head towards the side of the road. The military jeep that he'd sabotaged was pulled off to the side and vacant.

Rapidly, they approached. A pair of walkers feasted on the corpse of the driver. They were easy to take out, being distracted by the tore flesh and blood. Inside the jeep, they found a couple of granola bars in the glove-box and the sheath to Michonne's katana, discarded in a hurry.

"Do you think they sacrificed her, to get away from a larger group?" Beth felt ill thinking about it, but the driver had clearly died after all her weapons had been stripped from her.

Without answering her, Daryl limped around the side of the jeep, "They didn't go back to Terminus. Probably saw the smoke and decided to take their chances elsewhere. Might mean there's some good hiding places not too far."

In the distance, the grey mist turned pale from headlights. A car on the road flew towards them.

Without a word they made their way into the tree-line beside the road, ducking into the tall grass, they lay flat, just in time for another of Terminus' military jeeps to rumble past. Shoved in the back, sitting about where she had been, was unmistakably, Tyreese, across from him, she thought she caught sight of Sasha and Michonne.

"It's them!" she jumped up from their hiding place and bolted to the road, waving her arms above her head. "HEY! MAGGIE!" Daryl joined her in the road, hobbling and raising his arms to try and alert the jeep.

They were out of sight too quick, ripping around the next bend and leaving them in darkness. Glenn must have been driving.

For a moment they stared after the jeep, then with only a split second to exchange a look they started up the road. It was more difficult moving uphill, but without discussing it, they both knew it was the only thing that made sense. Terminus was on fire—they're people had gotten out. They needed to track where they'd gone as far as they could and hope to meet up with them wherever they finally decided to rest their heads.

As Daryl had said, there was no reason for them to believe that either of them had made it out alive.

Almost, Beth wondered vocally if they'd all managed to fight their way out of Terminus, but decided against it as she looked at Daryl's pale face over her shoulder. He had to be thinking it too; it would be a miracle if they hadn't lost anyone.

Now that gravity and the cold were against them, they were slower. Whereas they'd managed to cover a couple of miles with relative ease, the next half-mile of road was agony. They were still damp from the rain, and now the night was making it worse. They wouldn't be able to dry out until the sun came up, or until they found someplace they could get out of their clothes and be safe for the night. Daryl's movements were getting stiff, his weight pressing down heavier against her with every halting step.

"Wait, wait, hold on."

Frightened to hear him sounding so exhausted, Beth shook her head and tried to urge him onward, "We've got to get you somewhere safe, first." She couldn't let him lie down in the middle of the road.

"It ain't that—I'll be fine," he muttered, taking his arm back he straightened up, though she stayed close in case he started to wobble. "Check this out," he cocked his head towards the side of the road.

Beth stared, but didn't see what he did, not right away. The grass was dead or dying and mangled. The rain had muddied up the area badly. The side of the road dipped into a low trench. With night having fallen thick around them it was difficult to see, but at Daryl's urging she saw a pile-up of four different cars just in front of the tree-line below. Her heart jumped and she looked for the military jeep, but its thick tires must have helped it avoid the slippery trap.

"Those cars could have been there for months… but they might have supplies," Beth whispered because she could hear some moaning from below. It was probably only one or two walkers.

"These are recent—last hour or so," he motioned to the mud. She could barely make out the tire tracks.

"Somebody fleeing Terminus?" Beth guessed.

Taking his gun from his belt Daryl started down the hill, leaning on Beth for support once she caught up to him.

The further they went down into the wide ditch, the easier it was to see the tire tracks that Daryl had noticed. The mud was creeping high up to their ankles, the deepest tracks led to an old grey Saturn at the edge of the pile. Three walkers prowled on the outside of the car, fogging up the windows with their gore as they tried fruitlessly to get to whoever was inside.

Taking Michonne's katana out of its sheath again, she handed it to Daryl and took her dagger out of her belt. The walkers had noticed them approaching and were stumbling away from the car, jaws snapping. Beth and Daryl got on either side of them made short work of the dead.

"I miss my crossbow something awful," Daryl admitted, trying to flick the blood off Michonne's sword the way he'd seen her do. He didn't quite have the movement down and a few flecks of blood sprinkled onto his face.

Beth peered into the car. There was a figure in the driver's seat, stock-still but upright. The windows were too gummed up to see properly, but she thought she saw short grey hair and for a brief moment, she hoped it might be Carol. Then Daryl opened the door and turned a gun on her; it was the doctor from Terminus.

The woman raised both her hands.

"Get out," said Daryl sharply, hitting the seat belt release.

Her jaw was ridged, her lips trembling. With difficultly, she pulled herself out of the car, her side was soaked with blood.

A piercing sound from the backseat made fresh tears jump to Beth's eyes. It was a baby's cry. Flinging the back door open, Beth found Judith strapped into a car-seat. The baby was sticky with blood, but none of it seemed to be her own. She was fussy, but not crying for pain. "Judith!" Beth blinked back the moisture in her eyes to better see her. She unstrapped her from the seat and let her rest against her shoulder, feeling the perfect, warm, soft weight of the baby.

"On your knees," she heard Daryl growl.

The doctor obeyed, hands still up. She had a gun at her side, but she didn't reach for it. Her lips were turning blue.

He held his gun to the back of her head and glanced up at Beth, "Lil' Asskicker, okay?"

"She's okay," Beth listened to her voice shake. Judith had begun to suck on her t-shirt, grabbed a handful of her hair; it was wonderful.

"What do we do with her?" He looked to Beth for an answer.

A shiver ran over her skin; it might have just been the cold, but it also might have been the look in his eyes as he questioned her silently. She knew it was her call; he was giving it to her.

"She's in bad shape," Beth eyes flickered over the doctor. "We'll bind that wound and cut her lose… not here though."

Daryl nodded; he didn't seem the least bit surprised by her show of mercy.

"It's stuck," the doctor finally spoke, in a small, far-away voice. She looked straight ahead, her eyes wide.

Glancing at the wheels, they saw what she meant. The car had slid off the road and only stopped because it got stuck in the mud. Getting it into reverse would be impossible because of the build-up of mud, there were the three other crashed cars in front of them, but if they could get it out, they might be able to maneuver around them.

While Beth took a moment to simply hold Judith in her arms, Daryl moved the car-seat into the trunk and loaded the doctor into the back seat, binding her side with her own T-shirt and taking her gun. She didn't look like she was in any shape to try anything. Her face was still blank and fearful, her trembling hands held her crumpled t-shirt over the wound in her side, her black bra contrasted sharply against bloodless skin.

Judith started to fuss again, probably because of the cold and Beth's damp T-shirt. Daryl was limping around, looking for anything they could use to create some traction under the wheels.

Beth didn't dare leave the baby with the doctor, so with Judith on her hip, whining, she dug with one hand through the mud and created a small ramp under one wheel while Daryl did the other side. He wanted to push, but she wouldn't let him—instead, he took the driver's seat. Judith settled on the floor of the passenger side, beginning to cry in earnest as the cold and discomfort became too much to bear. She could hear Daryl trying to soothe her as she walked around the back of the car to push.

They were covered in mud and shivering again by the time they got back on the road. Beth drove, while Daryl held Judith on his lap in the passenger seat.

"Seems a shame not to use a perfectly good baby-seat," said Beth, but she knew why he'd put it away. The doctor needed space to lie down, and besides that, she'd rather have Judith in Daryl's arms up in front of the car then next to a cannibal in the back seat.

"Drive careful," Daryl suggested.

Judith seemed happier now, she kept grabbing at Daryl's nose and goatee.

In the back seat, the doctor drifted towards unconsciousness, her eyes drooping as her body tensed. She was clearly in horrible pain, but there was little they could do about it. She would probably be dead before the night was over, but for whatever reason, Beth felt compelled to try and save her.

"If I'd asked you to kill her, you would've?" Beth spared Daryl a glance before returning her eyes to the road.

Shrugging, Daryl nodded. "I figure you'd have your reasons."

"I just… I don't think they're all like Brady. Don't you think some of them are different? Maybe she's different."

He couldn't give her an answer. In her head she started to overanalyze his silence, but shook it off. It wasn't a good time. They needed to find somewhere safe and sound. They had a full tank of gas. If they were lucky, they might even be able to catch Maggie and the others just down the road. She kept her eyes peeled for turns up ahead and other things that might have caught their attention; compelled them to pull over and hunker down.

Even though she was covered in mud, blood and rainwater, shivering from cold, hungry and exhausted, Beth felt her heartbeat returning to a peaceful steady pace. This was okay. They were going to be okay. They had each other and they even had Judith; it was a miracle, a reason to celebrate. "I got a little dark before."

"How you mean?" Daryl gave Judith his finger to play with. She grabbed a hold of it eagerly. "I don't remember that," he added.

"That stuff I said about how there's more ugly and bad to come? I know it's true and all. There's no reason we can't still look forward to good things."

"If anythin' it… makes good stuff better, 'cause it's rare," Daryl murmured back at her.

"Yeah, exactly," she smiled over at him, glad that he already understood what she was trying to say. "I mean, it's like when T-Dog and Lori died… I _was_ sad," her voice dropped to a whisper, "But I couldn't take my eyes off the baby."

"Me neither," Daryl admitted, "There was death at every turn, but here we got this…"

Judith interrupted them with an excited coo.

"We got ourselves a baby. I know she ain't mine, but she kinds of is. She's Rick's baby and Lori's and Carol's and Michonne's… she's mine, and she's your Lil' Asskicker."

"Yeah she is," Daryl tickled Judith under the chin.

"More good things will happen. We'll find our family. We'll meet other good people and our group will be strong again."

Daryl looked doubtfully over his shoulder at the woman in the back seat. "Before you came into the train-car, I was talking with Abraham. Big guy. Military."

"Maggie says they helped her and Glenn find each other," Beth remembered him vaguely, though she hadn't really looked at him for longer than a few seconds.

"They seem alright, Abraham and his people."

"I know there are bad people, but there always _were_. We've got to have hope that there are more out there, like us."

For a stretch, neither of them said anything. Judith was settling down, getting quiet. Daryl let the chair back a little ways and leaned his head against the seat, watching Beth. "We'll find 'em," he finally said.

"Yeah?" Beth looked at him from the corner of her eye, still watching the road; she half-expected to come upon their taillights. "I think so too," a genuine smile came to her lips. She wanted to reach over and take Daryl's hand in her own, but the responsible caretaker in her was taking Daryl's advice to heart; she needed to pay attention to the road ahead.

"I'm not just sayin' that. I want you to know that I got hope." He was doing his best to distract her, even if it was completely inadvertent. His unyielding blue eyes were fixed on her, the shadows falling across his face couldn't do enough to hide the tiniest smile that he dared to wear. "I stole it from you, I think." He hesitated, and she could tell that he was making a tremendous effort to do something that made him nervous.

Beyond a doubt now, she knew what this was. It was that little glimmer of truth she'd seen in him back in the funeral home, when he tried and failed not to tell her how he felt. He hadn't actually said it, but she'd heard it all the same. She felt it too, in the way he kissed her. Now, she was seeing it in his hesitancy, his desire to do everything right, where she was concerned. His hand rested on her shoulder, with just enough pressure to warm her soaked skin.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she brought her shoulder up and rested her cheek against his hand.

"Even if we don't find 'em… for a while," he added the last bit in little more than a murmur, "You're with me."

"I'm with you," Beth agreed.

Maggie and the others couldn't have been that far ahead of them, but the road got longer as they ambled their way out of the wilderness. Once they reached the crest, they could see miles in front of them. No taillights shown. The moon was muted by cloud-cover.

As far as their sight would allow, they could only look into darkness.

* * *

**Somebody to Die For - Hurts**


	15. Take Shelter

When it became clear that they weren't going to be able to catch the jeep that night, Beth elected to pull off the road at the first little town that they came across. She didn't see that they had a choice, with the doctor bleeding and in shock in the back seat, Daryl still injured and in need of rest and the baby getting both hungry and tired. Besides that—part of her hoped that Rick and the others wouldn't have gone too far, too fast. They might have pulled into this same area to hole-up for a couple of days, get their bearings back after the fight and escape from Terminus.

The sleepy little town was effectively nameless. The _Welcome To –_ sign having been vandalized beyond recognition a long time ago, by the looks of it. The nameless village had dirt roads, a couple of little shops that Beth was afraid would already be picked clean, a few little houses, a school, a run-down trailer park and an old chapel.

The chapel had clearly been the pride of the village before the end of the world. It looked old and was prominently placed near the middle of the town, spire pointing high towards heaven. The windows were boarded up, but it had the desolate, dead feeling of a lost sanctuary. It didn't take more than a second look and a shiver down her spine for Beth to decide to look elsewhere.

Across the road from the large old church she saw a promising candidate. "If it's not too soon?" She raised an eyebrow at Daryl.

With a groan, Daryl conceded. "I don't care, not really." But she could tell he did. Daryl had never much enjoyed sleeping in a cell.

Pulling onto the curb beside the little jailhouse, Beth quickly glanced around to check for walkers. The Saturn was actually pretty quiet, and she'd turned her headlights off once they'd slowed down and approached the town, not wanting the light to attract any walkers. Everything appeared clear but all the same she insisted on running ahead to peak into the windows of the little jailhouse.

The lock on the front door was broken, but she didn't find any walkers inside, nor any evidence of a stand-off. Probably, it had been left empty until someone came along and tried to raid it for weapons. With Daryl's help, they got the doctor and Judith inside and resting on the floor of the drunk-tank.

Before she could order Daryl off his feet, he'd gone back out to the car to empty the trunk. She sat down and held onto Judith feeling the aching tired in her bones. She couldn't even imagine how Daryl was still managing to function right now. She was ready to collapse. When he returned he dropped a sack made out of canvas on the floor and limped to the drunk tank with the baby-seat. It probably wasn't the most comfortable thing, but it was as best as they had for her at the moment. Beth set it up so that she was lying back in it, nearly like a crib. Judith was so exhausted from the ordeal that she started to drift off right away.

They barricaded the door with a couple of desks from the administrative room and checked all the exits. Only then, could either of them take a deep, much needed breath.

"Our Termite friend over here thought to grab some medical supplies," he gestured towards the former contents of the Saturn's trunk, dropped on the floor of the jailhouse.

"Good," a feeling of relief washed over her, it was one less thing they'd have to go on a run in order to find. She started to sort through the items, checking labels. She wished she'd paid a little more attention when her father was trying to teach her about this stuff.

"Not a lot of food though," from his tone, she could tell that Daryl was already thinking about taking care of the problem immediately.

"Let's worry about all that in the morning," Beth pleaded, "We've got babyfood for Judith and… some jerky." Her stomach lurched, "We've got enough for now. You're hurt, you gotta rest."

"I don't think I'll be able to, as long as we ain't safe."

_We're never really safe._ "You will if I drug you."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her like he couldn't tell whether she was serious or not.

"You need stitches and…" she recognized the jumble of letters on a label, "Some of these—at least, I think it's right. It's what my dad gave to Michonne when she first came to the Prison."

Without comment, he swiped the proffered bottle examining it with suspicious eyes. "I'll stitch my leg up—go see to the hostage." He nodded towards the doctor.

"Yes _sir,_" but she gave him the tiniest smile as she grabbed a few items from the bag and shuffled into the drunk-tank. Judith was out, fast asleep inside the babyseat, her mouth slightly open and dribbling onto her own shoulder. The baby was still covered with blood and mud and as far as they knew, she hadn't eaten all night. Beth was going to have to wake her up, feed her, and give her a little bath before she could turn in for the night. Judith wouldn't like it.

The doctor was in bad shape. She seemed to have come out of shock all on her own, but her forehead was slick with sweat and her trembling hands were still clamped down hard over the wound. She hadn't said a word since telling them that the car was stuck, so Beth was surprised when she immediately made eye contact with her (something else she'd never done) and said, "Don't waste any of that on me. Save it."

"It's was your medicine and supplies," Beth shrugged, "We stole it. The least we can do is let you have some of it."

"No point," she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain as she gradually drew her hands back and pulled her crumpled T-shirt away from the wound. It was a mess, but with most of the blood absorbed by the fabric, there was no mistaking the bite marks. "I got out to push the car; didn't hear them coming up behind me until it was too late."

Daryl would have seen it, when he loaded her in the backseat and helped her off with her shirt, but he didn't say anything. He let her have the last hours of her life on her terms, though it would have made perfect sense to kill her. Unsure whether the doctor deserved it or not, Beth decided that she would have done the same.

For several minutes Beth didn't say anything, she watched Judith sleeping peacefully and worried a lone bottle of codeine in her hands. Letting the doctor shake with the fever on the floor, jaw tight, eyes desperate, though she had to know that it was the end for her. "Is the pain more than it's worth?" she finally asked, prepared to kill her if she asked for it.

The doctor looked at her with glassy, shimmering eyes. She hadn't gotten to see much of them at Terminus, they were always averted from her own, but she had quite pretty eyes; they were green like Maggie's and even bloodshot, there was a clear earnest quality to them. "No," she answered in little more than a whisper, "I'll ride it, if you don't mind."

"What the hell happened?" the pragmatic side of Beth wondered if this was the real reason she'd asked Daryl to spare her life; they needed answers.

"…could ask you the same thing," said the doctor through her teeth as a visible tremor rocked her.

"You first."

Perhaps it was Beth's imagination but it seemed like there were suddenly twice as many beads of sweat on the doctor's already slick forehead, her silver hair was dark with it, she struggled to speak, "Some of the… people, in the train-cars got out and got their hands on weapons, somehow. I was with the mothers and the babies when we first heard the shots fired. They told us to stay inside while they took care of it."

As she listened, Beth gently woke Judith, apologizing under her breath as the baby whined.

"It should have been over quick, just a dust-up… but it went on. I can't imagine where they got so much ammo. Then, I guess the gunfire attracted the attention of a herd that was passing close by. With so many of them against the fence…" The doctor stopped and groaned, biting down so hard on her lips that Beth half-expected to see fresh blood.

Judith was hungry, and ate the proffered food eagerly, though he eyes were still drooping, longing for sleep. In spite of everything she felt the urge to try and offer the dying woman a little comfort, she gripped her wrist with the hand that wasn't feeding the baby.

"I think it might have been sabotage—someone opened the gate to let the dead in, then the fire started. By the time I realized that we were all in danger, there wasn't much time left. I just grabbed what I could and took a car but… I didn't want to just save myself, you know? I needed to save someone…" her head turned to the side and a few drop spilled from her eyes as they found Judith, with green baby-food spill on her chin. "At least she made it out alright… Maybe the center held together. Maybe some of the mothers are still alright, and Gareth, and Brady. They might have made it."

A toxic cocktail of bitterness and begrudging empathy swirled inside Beth. She knew these thoughts, she remembered them well. The difference was that the doctor wasn't going to know, one way or another, what had become of her people. She wanted them to be different, wanted for the people of Terminus to be an entirely different species. They'd made innocent people into their victims, created a system that ran on blood and sickening dynamics of power and submission. She didn't like seeing any shades of her own people in them.

"You knew she was called Judith? You knew her?" the doctor's voice shook.

"I never thought I'd see her again," Beth admitted, looking fondly at the baby. "Her mother died, and I sort of… took over. We got separated. I couldn't believe it when I saw her there."

"Then you know Sophie?"

For several seconds Beth didn't process what the doctor had said, because it didn't make any sense, she stared at her, trying to figure out if she'd heard her wrong.

"Sophie? The young woman who brought her to us?"

Beth shook her head, "No. I know Carol and Tyreese—I thought one of them must have had her."

"They were with Sophie," the doctor explained.

Beth frowned at this new information, "No, I don't know Sophie. They must have found her after we all got separated."

"Carol, did you call her? She and the man came first. Sophie followed after them, with Judith. Sophie agreed to be a mother."

Beth's jaw set, her gaze flickered down to her mutilated hand. She'd decided she'd rather lose some flesh then hand all of it over to Terminus. Part of her understood the desperation that Sophie must have felt, if she'd known, at least. They'd never told Beth, so maybe not everyone knew what they were eating; maybe not everyone knew that the choice was submit or be food.

"What about you?" the doctor asked with desperate eyes, "I asked. Gareth said that you and one of the others had been taken to lead the herd away."

"It's probably our fault that the herd came to Terminus," Beth admitted without a trace of an apology in her voice, she didn't feel like she owed one. Innocent people might have died, it was true, but she was trying not to think about that. They were evil people; she'd done what she had to in order to save her life. She couldn't be expected to blame herself for not being willing to sacrifice her own life to save a bunch of cannibals, who were just going to keep murdering people as long as they were around. "Daryl and I made some trouble, sabotaged the car so that your guys wouldn't be able to make it all the way back, then we… well, we managed to get away from the herd. We were on our way back for our friends, but by the time we made it back, everything had already gone down. Our people are either dead, or they got away."

"How did you get away?"

In vivid detail Beth explained blow by blow, what had taken place in the woods. The doctor listening, though she had to squeeze her eyes shut every few minutes and sometimes she was still so long that Beth wondered if she'd slipped away. When she was finished the doctor opened her eyes again and looked through the bars of the drunk-tank.

On the far wall of the room outside, Daryl sat hunched over his injured leg, stitching the skin back together and glancing up at them every few minutes. He probably wasn't close enough to hear, but all the same when the doctor spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. "If you can't be a killer, you have to find one to protect you. I can see why you're with him."

_You really can't._ Tempting as it was to expand upon Daryl's caring, gentle side, Beth stayed silent. The doctor could think whatever she wanted about them, she didn't have long for this world, and even if Beth did try and explain it, she doubted that the woman would be able to understand.

Shaking worse than ever, the doctor covered her eyes with bloody hands, her face screwing up. A ragged sob forced itself out of her throat, making Judith jump in her sleep. The doctor quieted her crying, conscious of the infant; she tried to stifle the noise with her own hands. "We'd come so far after… everything," she murmured, "In the end, we weren't cold enough?" she shook her head, as if in denial. "Some of them have to have made it. We've come too far," she spoke in between quiet gasps. "Our penance… our _penance_." Her chest fell deeper with every breath.

Beth took a hold of her hand and gripped it tight, feeling the last of her strength leaving her rapidly. The last breathes of the doctor were slow hisses, her eyes lost focus with every exhale until finally, her body gave up.

It didn't surprise her at all that Daryl tried to help her take the body out. With firmness that denoted just how tired she was, Beth ordered him to stay put, she could handle it on her own. He obeyed, tossing her his lighter; then he watched her dragging the body with visible discomfort. She pulled the desks away from the door, intending to take her into the parking lot, stab her in the brain and burn her.

It didn't seem like they should have passed through the whole of the night yet, but red and gold light was starting to leak through the boarded up windows. If Beth hadn't been so tired, she might have noticed the first indication that something was wrong; the crack between the front doors was dark.

The moment there was an inch of space between the doors, three pairs of rotting grey arms forced their way through. "Daryl!" she shrieked, stumbling backwards—one hand had a hold of her t-shirt, the fabric ripped as she scrambled backwards. Two arms secured themselves around the doctor's shoulders and began to drag her back with them, a third twisted its gnarled fingers into her scalp, the first dead face fell onto her, biting into the recently expired flesh eagerly.

In a blur of movement, Daryl was one his feet. He hurtled his whole body into one door, while Beth did the same for the other. Together, they managed to get the desks back into place before the walkers could push through.

"We should go?" she asked once the desks were back in place. The walkers weren't trying to push through the door; they were satiated by the meal they'd taken, but once they were finished, would they try to get inside again?

Daryl limped to the nearest window and peered between the boards someone had nailed in place long ago, "There's only a half-dozen right now; could be that a few more come along and join them. Let's just take care of it," he shrugged.

Looking doubtfully at his leg and feeling her side smart, Beth conceded with a nod. Whether they ran to find a new place or tried to take out the walkers now, it wasn't going to be easy. She waited for him to give her instructions, but for a few seconds he lost the power of speech. His eyes also seemed to have gotten snagged several inches below her face.

Glancing down, Beth remembered that the walker who'd grabbed her had taken some of her shirt with him. Her yellow polo now had a plunging neckline. She was still so cold and damp from the earlier rainfall that she couldn't feel much of a difference, but it was admittedly shocking to very suddenly see herself showing so much skin. Self-consciously she tried to fold either side of her torn shirt over to at least cover her bra.

"We'll uh…go shopping, later." Daryl motioned for her to follow him.

They went out the back, armed and ready to take advantage of the momentary distraction. By the time they made it around to the front six walkers had turned to eight, but Daryl didn't seem concerned, so Beth drew on his fearlessness. They stayed tight to the corner, blades out, but guns stowed, they didn't want to attract more if they could help it. Still, eight was starting to push what was easy. With one hand, Beth held her shirt closed while the other had her knife up and at the ready.

The walkers were so engrossed in feasting that they didn't see either of them until it was too late for three of them. Before any rotting head turned, Daryl had already decapitated one of them and skewed another through the back of the head while Beth knifed the closest one. They stood back to back, ready to take on the rest of them. At the same instant that they both lurched to take out another walker, a riotous blast rocked past them.

Daryl threw himself in front of Beth, bowling her backwards towards the building. In the impressive space of four seconds, three more rounds fired off. With each blast, a walker head exploded. Daryl killed the last one without hardly looking at it. His eyes were searching for the gunmen.

"There!"

Then Daryl saw it to. In the bell-tower of the old chapel, something moved. A tall dark figure stood out in the vibrant dawn. He raised one hand in greeting.

Returning the signal slowly, Daryl continued to move backwards, taking Beth's arm in his hand. The figure in the church faded away before they even turned the corner.

"What's that mean?" Beth asked as soon as they were clear and she could take a breath.

Daryl didn't answer her until they made it back inside the jailhouse. He shut the back door and together they barricaded it. "Nothin' I hope," he rubbed at his eyes. "He could have shot us. He didn't; didn't need to help us neither—so maybe it was just his way of announcing himself. Sacrificing a couple of bullets so we know we ain't alone. Could be one of your good people. Could be that we got ourselves a neighbor."

* * *

**We Found Each Other in the Dark - City and Colour**


	16. Hush Now

In the small kitchen inside of the jailhouse they found some cups, bowls and even a large cooking pot. Using water from the hot-water heater, they finally stripped out of their clothes, washed them and cleaned themselves up. Daryl stayed close, but set a table on its side as a partition between them. Judith didn't like being bathed in the cool water, but it was all they had. She tried to make it better by holding onto her close so she wouldn't get too cold, but the baby had a good strong cry for a few uncomfortable, chilly moments.

Once every last drop of blood was scrubbed off the baby, Beth wrapped her up in one of the shock-blankets they'd found in the kitchen cupboards. Judith happily gnawed on Beth's shoulder while she shivered and let her bare skin air-dry. The bruises on her side looked so much worse now. She was certain that all the exertion over the past twenty-four hours had set her broken ribs back a bit. Her hand throbbed, but if she kept it wrapped correctly, it wasn't unbearably painful. In time she would heal.

She sat cross-legged on the ground, naked and shivering with the baby in the blanket wrapped up in her arms, watching the light intensify through the boarded-up windows. On the other side of the table Daryl stood up, keeping his back to her as he wrapped up in his own blanket. Once again, she couldn't help but stare.

Though he offered her privacy, she couldn't find the will to do the same. Wasn't he even tempted to look? His tattoos and his scars stood out all the more because his skin was so drained. It reminded her with a twist of concern that he'd lost so much blood and still hadn't really gotten to rest or get himself a good long drink yet. He left without seeming to glance at her.

Now wrapped in her own shock-blanket, Beth carried Judith back into the drunk-tank.

The baby-seat was too spattered with blood to serve as a proper crib for Judith now that she was all clean, so Beth had found an old cardboard box inside the office part of the jailhouse to serve as a bed for the baby. She made sure she was wrapped up tight and laid her in the box, moving it underneath the bench so that it would be nice and dark for her. The poor thing was so exhausted that her eyes were already sagging closed as Beth tucked her in.

She found Daryl still upright, having a staring contest with the make-shift bed she'd put together out of couch cushions and more shock blankets. The dilemma on his face was clear. Since leaving the prison they'd never slept more than a few feet away from one another, usually taking turns, and always wearing clothing.

Wanting to say something to break the tension, she thought about pointing out that they were both injured and exhausted and would definitely just be sleeping tonight. However, her tongue got tied into a knot as she inwardly acknowledged that it was still tempting. Even with the baby and the pain and deep in-the-bones tired that they both had to be feeling, she still briefly considered dropping the blanket just to see what would happen. Very briefly. She knew she was too chickenshit.

"You've got to get off that leg," she told him once she'd taken a deep breath and untangled her tongue. "Come on—settle in, I'll get you some water."

Aside from the highly suspect jerky, the doctor had also swiped a number of hearty protein bars, a bag of granola and a liter of water. She brought these and some of the baby-food into the drunk-tank and shut them in. Daryl had finally gotten off his feet; he sat up in the make-shift bed, with his back against the stone wall of the tank. With one hand Beth passed over the water bottle and the food, awkwardly trying to hold her blanket shut at the same time.

She sat down next to him, for the first time in hours allowing herself to fully experience the pain in her side and wince.

He was tense all through his shoulders and his back; this wasn't actually very relaxing for him. She probably should have set up the beds on opposite sides of the room, but at the same time, she wanted them to stay close.

As gingerly as she could, for the sake of her ribs, she lowered herself onto her side and propped her head up on one arm. "What do we do?"

He froze. "What?"

"About our neighbor," she added quickly.

"Hum," Daryl ripped the package of a protein bar open with his teeth, "Nothin' for now. As I see it, we each go on pretending the other one ain't there, until something changes."

Nodding, Beth decided that it was probably best. She didn't want them to get too comfortable here, and the man at the church might be something of a permanent resident, but if that was the case, then there couldn't be a whole lot of supplies to scavenge in this unnamed town. He had to be worried that they might come and take what was his. Unless he was confident that he could fight them off, or there was always the possibility that he didn't care anymore.

"I was thinking, we just stay here for a bit," she was getting more comfortable with every passing second. Some of the chickenshit in her faded away and she had to resist the urge to reach up and massage his shoulder. "'Till we're both strong again, then we keep going after Rick and the others. Only… I don't know where they're going."

"Abraham and his group's headed to DC. We'll keep on in that direction, maybe run into 'em on the way—or we could at least find some signs. Even if they split off, we might learn more as we move." It was all they really had to go on, but Daryl managed to make it sound like a lot. He truly did have hope that they would be able to track them down.

He polished off half the water in one swig, but didn't eat much, though she was sure he was starving. He probably predicted that they might not have enough later on. "You uh… I noticed some pretty nasty bruises, before."

The ones over her ribcage? "You _were_ lookin'." She grinned at him, failing to fight the blush on her face.

"_Yeah_, I was," he muttered, taking another sip from the bottle, not meeting her eyes. "There's a vet's office a few blocks down. I bet in a little place like this they'd have some DMSO, for horses. It's not exactly the most pleasant stuff but—"

"It might help," Beth realized. They'd had some at the farm for their horses. She'd never thought of using it on a person before, but it ought to work just the same. "That's a good idea. We can go on a run tomorrow."

She'd barely slept since leaving the funeral home; only managing to gather a few scattered hours during her imprisonment at Terminus. It seemed like Daryl must have been on a similar schedule, he was out even faster than she was.

Every few hours, Judith would cry and Beth would crawl out of their little makeshift bed over to the cardboard box under the bench and take her out to feed her and hold her and play with her for a little while, away from the drunk-tank. She tried to jump up quickly each time, so that Daryl could keep sleeping. Between the medication he was taking and his own natural exhaustion, he barely stirred all through the rest of that day and the next night. Beth divided her time between the baby, searching the jailhouse for any more supplies and checking their clothing every few hours until they were finally dry enough to put on again.

The babyfood wasn't going to last, and they had hardly any food for either of them. The water from the water-heater was fine to drink, but they needed to get supplies, soon.

While Judith slept she stayed curled close into Daryl's side, watching his chest rise and fall, drifting in and out of sleep as her mind allowed. If she dreamt than it was only about lying next to Daryl Dixon in the drunk-tank of a jailhouse in an unnamed town. Even in the darkness she could see that his color was still muted and he moved so little that it worried her, but he was breathing.

In the morning, Beth and Judith watched the thin strips of orange sunrise fight their way through the boards on the windows together. The baby's hair was getting long, but she found a small pair of scissors in one of the desks and had a go at trimming the wispy hairs.

"You're gettin' huge," she whispered to Judith, "We've gotta find your daddy soon. He should get a good long look at you before you start talkin' and walkin' and acting like some kind of person."

She was grateful that Judith hadn't cried much in that last day. After feeding her again, the baby got sleepy. Quietly, Beth tucked her into her cardboard box again and spent a good twenty minutes standing stock-still, hanging onto the bars of the drunk-tank and just watching the light in the room grow.

Too restless to wait any longer, she put her boots on and ducked into the administration part of the jailhouse, searching for a pen and paper.

Daryl needed to get his strength back, but she couldn't seem to lay her head down for more than a few hours at a time, besides that, they needed food, supplies—both of them needed new clothing. Even if she couldn't find everything they needed, she could at least check those shops they'd passed just a few blocks down the street, and just come right back if they didn't have anything.

_Gone on a run, Beth_.

There was a twenty-dollar bill shoved inside one of the desks. Beth tore it in half, wrote the note on one piece and made a short list on the other. Shopping always went by quicker with a list; going on a run would probably be similar. She hoped that Judith would sleep soundly for the next hour, at least, but she would be as quick as possible, just in case.

Daryl would never even know that she left.

* * *

**Fix You - Coldplay**


	17. Neighbors

The last item that Beth added to her list was matches, so that she could take care of the bodies in the parking lot. The only problem was that before they burned them, they needed to drag them away from their shelter, so as not to simply attract more walkers. She went out the back door of the jailhouse, gun drawn in one hand while the other clutched her dagger, ready. Her torn T-shirt was marginally cleaner and still hung open, but there was nothing she could do about it.

The area was deserted and so she stepped outside. Thinking quickly, she blocked the back door with a couple of trash cans. It wasn't enough to keep them trapped inside if something happened, but it would slow any walkers down and make a hell of a lot of noise.

When she came around the front of the jailhouse it took her a moment to figure out what looked wrong. There were still gruesome stains on the asphalt, but all the bodies were gone.

She stared at the empty space for a moment, then heard the distant sound of a shovel scraping its way through topsoil. Raising her gun automatically as her eye caught movement, she followed the sound to the church across the street.

Their neighbor was outside in the churchyard, digging graves. She lowered the gun and watched the man in the distance. She could see two of the bodies wrapped up in pale sheets and awaiting their resting place in the ground. The man was tall and lean, dressed in dark clothing. He didn't pause in his work, but somehow she thought that he'd seen her.

As Daryl had done, she raised one hand.

Gradually, he stopped digging, rested the blade on the ground and raised a hand in salute as well.

He made no move to approach and neither did she. As Daryl had suggested, he'd helped them with the walkers, but that didn't mean he wanted to actually have anything to do with them. She was alright with that. It was nice enough knowing that there were still good people in the world. People who took the time and effort to bury the dead. She thought of the funeral home with a twist in her gut; a visceral a reminder that she'd been wrong before.

They weren't sticking around. They needed to head after Rick and Maggie and the others, if the man in the church didn't want to be friends, she could respect it.

Blocks seemed longer after the turn. She walked briskly, keeping her gun drawn and her eyes open, but there was nothing to see. The unnamed town looked like everywhere else; stripped, ravaged and left forgotten. It used to bother her that they just took things, but at some point during that first winter, she'd stopped thinking of it as stealing, or even as stripping away pieces of the old world—it was salvaging. The whole world was left vacant, and what they didn't save would just end up rotting with it.

The vet's office that Daryl had pointed out was next to a bar that had burned out, so one side of the waiting room scorched and smoked out. The whole place smelled strongly of mold. She found the equine liniments and a few other drugs that caught her eye. Besides the scorching on the walls, it didn't seem like this place had much of a story since the world ended, or whatever had happened in the bar next door eclipsed it.

She carried the items in her ripped T-shirt. The wind moved right through her. She'd been hoping she could find a bag or something that she could use to make a satchel, but so far she hadn't seen anything suitable.

Across the road there was a grocery store. It had clearly been sacked already, but the previous raiders had very courteously secured the doors shut with a couple of carabineers hooked together with a section of chain-link. She wondered if it had been the man at the church.

Still cautious, she unhooked one of the doors and pushed her way past the broken lock, inside the grocery store. She waited a moment, listening for any shuffling or moaning. The store didn't have many windows and was thick with darkness. The shelves and derelict bins loomed ahead. Snatching a foam football from the nearest bin she hurled it across the expanse, as hard as she could. It smacked into a far shelf with a clatter, but still, the grocery stayed tranquil. It seemed that she was alone.

Reaching through the front doors she awkwardly secured the carabineer back into place, not wanting to be followed inside. For the most part, it seemed like the store had been relatively undisturbed. Items were missing, but the place hadn't exactly been ransacked. She shuffled over first to a small section with back-to-school gear and found a backpack to carry the haul. The clothing was poor quality, starchy and in depressing washed-out colors; the kind that she never would have even glanced at before the turn. She found a couple of tank tops that she was fairly certain were actually meant for little boys, along with a zip-up hoodie for herself and some cheap shirts that would have to work for Daryl. She stripped off her ruined yellow polo right there in the store and slipped into the dark-green ribbed tank, surprised that it actually fit her alright.

The baby section of the store was still stocked. She worked quickly, and for a few glorious moments got to drink in the possibility of going on a run without having to kill or even see a single walker. She was just cramming the last of her list into the overstuffed backpack when a clatter from the front of the shop caused her to freeze stock-still, mid-zip.

Crouched low to the ground, she crept around the nearest shelf so that she could get a glimpse of the front of the shop. The bit of light trickling in from the front distorted as the front doors opened and someone walked in. Unlike her, this person left the carabineers hanging, didn't bother to secure the door behind him. She peered out just long enough to get a lot at the man. He was alone, it seemed—or at least she couldn't see anyone else with him. He was too pale and small to be the man at the church, but he did look familiar.

With her back against the shelf, listening to him shuffle his way around the shop, she took a few heartbeats to place him. The biggest hint was the surge of anger she'd felt when she saw him. Then, she made him; it was the weedy guy from Terminus, the one who'd been in the jeep with them when they drove her and Daryl out to the head of the herd.

He made his way around the shop with quiet, scurrying movements like a rat, his flashlight glinting erratically around the shelves as he squinted. She had a feeling his eyesight was bad and it was confirmed when he paused at a small tree of plastic reading glasses.

Part of her wanted to just make a break for the door. Maybe once he went back to look through the food, she'd be able to sneak out without him even seeing her. This thought was stifled by a new voice in her mind; one she hadn't known had taken place there.

_He might not be alone. If Franco and the brothers are prowling around nearby, don't you need to know?_ She should tell Daryl and let him decide. He could probably use another day of taking it easy before they booked it, but if he knew that some of their old buddies had taken refuge in this same unnamed town, he'd probably want to hit the road right away, or he'd want to remove the threat entirely.

_He's one guy, and he doesn't know you're here. He's careless._

She couldn't kill him, in fact, she didn't even want to. Beth wasn't one to be romanced by vengeance, but if he was an immediate threat, she had to do something. The only problem was that she wasn't sure she was capable. She'd never been put into this position before; she wasn't desperate, wasn't a victim, she was the aggressor.

Would she be any good at it?

A container of zip-ties on a nearby shelf caught her eye.

She snuck up on him as he was loading his own pack with canned soups. She pulled the hammer on her gun back to announce herself and watched him straighten up; abruptly tense. "I'll only shoot you if I have to," she tried her best to keep her voice and hand steady.

Without her even having to tell him, he set his pack down with a sigh and turned around, hands on his head. When his eyes fell on her, they doubled in size and his jaw dropped.

She smiled at him. She wasn't sure what made her do it. Her heart was hammering, but she felt strangely calm. She didn't think he'd make her shoot him, but if he did, so be it.

While maintaining his terrified expression he let out a short, humorless laugh, "Fuck."

* * *

The look on Daryl's face stole any rationalization or argument she might have come up with on the walk back to the jailhouse. He'd clearly been awake and pacing for just long enough. He saw her coming through the boarded up windows and ripped the barricade away from the front doors, meeting her there in the frame as she dropped her new backpack at her feet. He was shaking and furious, but he only pulled her into a rough embrace.

That she'd made him worry for even a few minutes made her heart shattered. _I'm sorry_. she tried to force the words out, but barely any sound managed to pass her lips, he was squeezing her too tightly. He had trousers, boots and gun back on, but hadn't bothered with his ruined shirt. Pressing her cheek against his bare shoulder, her hands felt the raised scars on his back, without meaning to, she dug her nails into his skin. "I'm sorry," she finally gasped in a breath. "I was stupid."

"Everythin' go okay?" he was still pale, but he seemed to have his strength back, she wasn't sure she could pull away from him if she wanted to. Of course, she didn't want to.

"Everything's fine. It was still stu—"

He cut her off by planting his mouth over hers, more aggressive than before. His tongue dove into her mouth as one hand twisted into her hair. A rush of euphoria held her utterly captive, she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but her body seemed to be. His mouth made its way onto her neck. An involuntary moan escaped from her throat, followed quickly by a small gasp. She backed away, pulled the strap of her tank-top back up and covered her mouth automatically.

With the faintest frown on his averted face, he stooped down to pick up her backpack, getting to his feet again with a groan, one hand braced against his bad leg. "I need to be more careful with you? Just tell me straight, Greene." He was pure nerves, she realized and somehow knowing that made all hers vanished.

"No!" Beth uncovered her mouth, shaking her head vigorously. "No, please don't." But she could feel the way her cheeks were flushed and she was sure that looking at her right now, she must look like a girl overwhelmed. His gaze was skeptical already, he was wondering if maybe he'd let her talk him into their being together too quickly. Was she really ready for this?

_Do something. Jump his bones. _"I just got a little nervous," she shrugged, tried to play it off, but she was sure he could see for himself the way she was still shaking. "Just for a second. It's gone now, promise. Also, there's something else."

From inside the jailhouse, Judith let out a whimper followed by jagged cries.

"She was worried about you too," he mumbled.

"We gotta take her with us," Beth sighed inwardly and pushed passed him to get to the baby.

"Take her where?"

* * *

**Hopeless Wanderer - Mumford and Sons**


	18. The Priest and The Cannibal

She'd left Randal zip-tied to the handle of a freezer. It was one of the only items bolted into the ground. Randal, turned out to be the weedy guy's name. In the forty or so minutes before they got back to him, Randal hadn't tried to slip out of the zip-ties. He'd hardly moved at all. They found him opening and closing the freezer to create an even, hypnotic rhythm.

Beth paced back and forth at the head of the isle carrying Judith in her arms, swaying slightly as the baby rested against her shoulder.

"I tortured a Randal this one time," said Daryl conversationally, he was crouched on the ground in front of Randal, "You kinda remind me of him, in that I bet you'd say some of the same shit that he did." He held onto Randal's dagger with two fingers, the point was pressed into the ground between them. He wore one of the shirts that she'd grabbed for him. A black polo underneath his winged vest. As predicted, the shirt didn't fit quite right and she was pretty sure that he was just waiting for the first opportunity to hack the sleeves off.

In addition to looking like he was about to piss himself, Randal eyed both Daryl and Beth with the same fearful glimmer that she would have imagined reflected in the eyes of a man looking at ghosts. They might as well be walkers, except that they were talking and clearly still full of living blood.

"You'll say how you didn't mean to fall in with such nasty types. You knew they was bad people, but hell—you needed somebody, didn't you?" With one black eye, Daryl's face was all-the-more intimidating. Beth didn't look at him like that, had barely been able to see that side of him for a long while now, but she knew that to a stranger, Daryl Dixon might as well be the angel of death. "You didn't do all that bad stuff though, did you? Not for a while, you weren't gonna do any of it. Then you did."

Randal swallowed hard, then nodded. He had more balls than she'd expected, at least. He wasn't pleading for his life. He looked afraid, but strangely resigned; a man who knew that he was beaten.

"Don't see much of a point it cuttin' on you then," Daryl flipped the blade of the knife back behind his wrist. "I'm thinking you're alone and that you're not headin' back to Terminus, am I right?"

His face had gone deathly pale at the mention of Terminus. "The car died about a mile up the road from home. We ran into a smaller herd, fixing to merge with the larger group. Andrah… we lost her. By then, there was gun-blast and smoke. It didn't make any _sense_," he shook his head at them, "It should have been another hour, at least, before the herd even got close, but we could hear that something was going down. Franco panicked. We were cut off. I slipped away from them first chance I got."

"Why go and do a thing like that?" Daryl flipped the knife forward and backwards in his hand. To Beth it looked like a mindless, restless movement, but Randal clearly found it nerve-wracking.

With his eyes following the flashing of the blade, Randal swallowed, "You saw those guys; out of the four of us, who do you think looks the most like zonbi food?"

"Like what?" Beth scooted Judith a little further up her hip.

"Zonbi," he rolled his eyes, "My granddad is—it's from these stories in Haiti that _his_ granddad told him about the dead that—you know what, never mind."

"We call them walkers," grumbled Daryl.

"It didn't catch on at Terminus either," Randal raised and lowered one shoulder.

"You didn't like your chances with your old friends?"

"I did not," Randal confirmed in a dark whisper. "I figured they were about as good as my chances alone, which I figured were also pretty bad."

"But you couldn't go back to Terminus?" Beth was momentarily distracted by a lock of Judith's hair, but a little longer than the rest. She'd have to fix it later.

Looking at the floor, Randal shook his head, "No. I was thinking about leaving anyway, but after what happened… Franco said that there was no way we'd avoid retribution. The man's a moron, but he knows something about that, I think."

"Now why think about leavin' such a safe n' wholesome environment?" Daryl asked in a dry, dark tone.

"I was really only there because of Alex. We met early on, after the turn. He always protected me. A couple of days ago, Mary shot him. When you came in," he cocked his head at Daryl.

Nodding, Daryl frowned at the ground. "Yeah, I remember that kid."

"We've got these rules—hard rules, but they need to be, don't they?" His voice shook a little as she heard him trying to convince himself, "That's just the way the world is now."

"Umhm," Daryl was etching something into the floor with the knife, the scraping noises grated in Beth's ears, so she walked a little further outside the isle for Judith's sake, but she was still close enough to hear.

"How in the fires of _hell_ did you two get away from that herd?" Randal asked after a prolonged silence.

"I ain't done yet, I'm just thinkin'," Daryl leaned back against the freezer opposite to Randal, still regarding him coldly.

Their prisoner seemed rattled, though they'd hardly laid a finger on him yet. It made Beth sick to think about killing him, but she'd known it was a possibility. If he was a threat to them, they had to kill him. They had to think about each other, not to mention Judith.

Randal turned his body sideways so he was facing the head of the isle were Beth still strolled back and forth with the baby in her arms. "Is she yours?" the raw hesitancy in his voice intrigued her, he watched Daryl out of the corner of his eye, as if expecting him to lash out. "Is that your baby?"

In answer, Beth pushed the overlong lock back of Judith's face again and kissed her forehead.

"Brady swore up and down that you were a virgin," he chuckled, then went pale when he caught sight of Daryl's eyes flickering back towards him, "I can't say I have anything against you killing that man, by the way. Seems fair."

"She might as well be my baby," Beth decided to break in here. Randal was in enough trouble as it was. "Soon, she'll be my toddler."

"Here's the trouble, Randal…" Daryl put his knife away and you could see the tension begin to ease away from their prisoner. "The cleanest thing to do would just be to shoot you in the head—well, stab you in the head, I don't wanna spend a bullet I don't need to."

Right before their eyes, Randal turned to stone, his face took on a greying tone of dread, his eyes pleaded with them.

"There's the messy way, of course—which is that we just leave you tied up here 'til we take off and then we cut you lose. A lot can go wrong there."

"I ain't a threat to you! Hell, I ain't a threat to nobody!"

"Maybe not," Daryl admitted with a shrug, "All the same, I'm not sure I like us occupyin' the same town. You may be a bit of a pussy, but you survived this long 'cause you're willin' to do terrible things to people."

"And how'd _you_ survive this long?" his voice broke in desperation, but something in his tone told her that he thought he had them here. He couldn't imagine anyone surviving without doing terrible things.

"Well, I ain't been driven to cannibalism," said Daryl in a quiet, dangerous voice.

At that Randal's expression grew hard. It was the closest thing she'd seen to real strength in him. He couldn't quite maintain it and had to look away from Daryl's face after a moment, "That's not what you think."

"I think it's seriously creepy shit."

Inappropriate timing aside, Beth felt a hunger pain in her stomach. She started to wander towards the next isle intending to get something to eat. Before she could take more than two steps a clatter at the front doors caused her to freeze. It wasn't the rough, clumsy sound of walkers trying to push their way inside. It was clean precise clicks, someone undoing a carabineer. "Daryl!" she shuffled back into the isle.

Jumping to his feet with a wince, Daryl handed her his gun automatically. "Shoot him if he tries anything."

With the baby in one arm and the gun pointed at Randal's head, Beth waited as Daryl peaked out at whoever had interrupted them. His shoulders relaxed a little bit, but he stayed silent as he turned back to them, "The man in the church," he mouthed.

"Church?" Randal hissed and Beth shushed him.

"Did you say the man in the church?" he actually raised his voice, sounding desperation in the question.

It was the kind of thing that she should shoot him for—he was making too much noise. Instead, she nodded in answer to his question.

"Father Gabriel," he bared his teeth, "Kill him."

"Hello?" Father Gabriel called out to them, "I know you're in here. I watched you. I'm not here to do no harm. I just want to talk. I want to convince you not to kill Randal."

"You know this jackass?" Daryl shouted to Father Gabriel while he gestured for Beth to retreat with the baby.

"Yes. Whatever he's done, I'll take responsibility, just don't hurt him."

"Kill the bastard," Randal didn't seem to be listening to a word that Father Gabriel was saying on his behalf, his eyes were murderous, but there was more there, real pain. Beth was taking her time slipping back down to the other end of the isle, but as Judith began to fuss, she sped up. Daryl was right, it was better for her to stay out of the way, in case it came to blows, or shots fired, she needed to protect the baby.

"He's sayin' to put you down," Daryl called across the isles.

Father Gabriel kept walking, finally identifying which isle they were in, he approached with his hands up, but still holding onto the barrel of a shotgun. "That doesn't surprise me."

"I'll do it!" Randal climbed to his feet awkwardly, reaching out for Daryl's gun with his one free hand.

Out of his reach, Daryl simply looked back and forth between the two of them.

"I grew up here," Randal made another mad grab for the gun.

Daryl was still too far away, he watched him struggle in mild disgust, flipping the barrel from the prisoner to the priest.

"I was part of Father Gabriel's congregation. When everythin' went to absolute hell, you know what this pious prick did?!"

Even with the distance between them, Beth could see the stricken expression on the priest's face, but he made no move, nor did he say anything to interrupt, he let Randal lay his sins bare.

"A bunch of us went to the church, for refuge. Sanctuary. He'd already barred the doors, set up some traps. He stayed holed up in there while the rest of us tried to beat our way inside—getting' ripped apart by our friends," as Randal finished, he burst into wild sobbing. More words came out, but they were incoherent

Father Gabriel dared to take a few more steps towards the head of the isle.

Daryl still had his rifle up, prepared though the vibe in the room was not one of a fire fight.

"I think this was what I was waiting for," Father Gabriel's voice shook, he turned the shotgun so that the barrel was facing his head and closed the distance between himself and Randal, allowing him to put his finger on the trigger. "My penance. One by one I've buried the corpses of my flock. You're the only one who got away. My life is yours to end, if it's what you need."

Randal's hands were shaking badly on the gun. He was still sobbing, doubled-over pathetically, as if in horrible pain. In contrast, Father Gabriel looked still, though the turmoil in his eyes suggested that he wasn't entirely at peace with death.

Not thinking he would really go through with it, Beth covered Judith's ears anyway, as a precaution. She waited, but in a few tense seconds it was clear that she was right. Randal's grip on the shotgun loosened until it slowly came to the floor between them.

"Touchin'," said Daryl in a growl, "Are you both my problem now? I was hoping to rest up, but it's not lookin' like it's gonna be worth it."

"I won't cause any trouble for you," Father Gabriel said over another round of Randal's sobs. "Focus on your baby and your girl. I can keep an eye on Randal if you're worried about him. Unless he decides to kill me, in which case, my apologies."

Seeing that Beth was trying to draw near again, Daryl motioned for her to stay put with one raised hand and she obeyed. "No offense, but we got us some serious trust issues. Don't get me wrong, I know there are still good people in this world. I wanna believe that you might be one—but I already know for a fact that this last little sheep of your flock is a piece of human garbage."

"He wronged you?" Father Gabriel threw another glance at Randal.

"Yeah," muttered Daryl.

Randal was quieting, but seemed unable to pull himself together enough to sit up. He remained a puddle on the floor as the other two men discussed his fate.

"Are you seeking vengeance?"

"Nah. More like I'm seeking not to go through a sequel here 'Wronged Us 2' or 'Wronged Us Again: Why The Hell Didn't We Learn Anything The First Damned Time?'. Understand me, Padre?"

"I understand," inclining his head, Father Gabriel seemed to think it over for a moment, "I'm not sure there's an obvious solution. We can try to trust one another for the time being… You know, I have an antique baby crib at the church. It's in one of the storage rooms, but I remembered it this morning. I'd been planning to leave it outside the jailhouse for you."

Exchanging a cautious look with Daryl first, Beth smiled at the priest and adjusted Judith onto her other side, awkwardly passing her gun to her other hand, "That'd be nice. She slept in a cardboard box last night."

"I figured it might be like that," Father Gabriel nodded. "I know you've got no reason to agree to this, but I have a few other amenities in the church. In the fifties it was all redesigned to better whether disaster. I've kept things going, best I can. You're welcome to stay."

Holstering her gun, Beth came close enough to lace the fingers of her free hand through Daryl's, but he stayed mute, looking at her face questioningly. He wanted her to make this call as well. It was a lot of pressure to put on a girl. Father Gabriel might be a cannibal too, or some other form of predator, but she doubted it. He admitted to leaving his congregation to die and had been willing to pay in his own blood if it might make it better. He must have been consumed by guilt. He wouldn't harm them. "If you'll have us. We don't plan to stick around for much longer. We've got people to track."

"Hunting?" he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Just tryin' to reunite with the rest of us."

* * *

**A Dustland Fairytale - The Killers**


	19. In a church, though?

In just a few hours, Beth could feel a difference in her ribs. She could also taste garlic. "This stuff is disgusting," she complained to no one as she finished wrapping her ribs. Father Gabriel was preparing dinner for them. She was alone in the bedroom that he'd made up into a Sunday school classroom for her.

As soon as she had pulled her shirt back on, she heard Judith crying from across the church. She rushed towards the kitchen, to see Daryl already standing sentinel outside, arms crossed, leaning against the frame and watching Father Gabriel as he tried to soothe the baby.

She slowed her pace and stopped right beside Daryl who turned and held her gaze.

"You're such a good girl, such a good baby," she heard Father Gabriel murmuring softly to Judith as he handed her a spoon to play with.

Randal was sitting at the table, watching as well, nursing a bottle of water and rubbing at his wrist nervously.

"We take off tomorrow?" she whispered to Daryl.

She was still uneasy about this arrangement, but it was just until they left, which she was beginning to think would be as early as the next morning. She felt anxious to catch the others and she could see that Daryl was getting restless too. Even with his injured leg, he didn't seem to want to be still for long, and the twenty-four hours of rest that he'd gotten seemed to have gone a long way towards his recovery.

"Mhum," he nodded, "How's your hand? your side?"

"The liniments are working, I think. But now I taste like garlic. It's gross."

"Nah, it's not," he kissed her softly on the mouth unexpectedly and she felt a tremor, overcome for a moment she rubbed her palms onto his chest, her hips pushed into his.

He pulled back, pecking her lightly on the forehead before he turned to look at the baby.

It could be her imagination, but maybe he was trying to keep her back an arm-length or two. "Could we go…" she jerked her head, just wanting to take him down the hall a ways so she could say something away from the ears of the priest.

"We gotta keep an eye on Judith," he shrugged apologetically.

She'd heard it said before that children were the best form of birth control. "I just wanna…" she wasn't going to be able to fight this blush much longer, "It's just, Father Gabriel made up a room for me n' the baby… and one for you, and I wanna make sure you ain't actually planning to sleep in there alone," she took a deep breath, "Come sleep with me."

Daryl was having a miniature staring contest with his hands again, "I was already plannin' on it."

"Good."

"I mean to sleep in the room with you—" he caught himself quickly, "I ain't leavin' you alone anywhere, Greene. 'Specially not when you're sleeping."

"That's not what I mean," she folded his hand into hers, bring it up to her chest.

He swallowed and finally started to shuffle away from the door of the kitchen and more into the hallway for privacy. His leg must have been a lot better because he was barely limping. "I know what you mean, girl."

"What's wrong? Is it cause you think I'm scared?" Admittedly, she had been, even earlier that day the prospect of actually having sex had made her incredibly nervous. She felt determined to get passed it, soon. "Is it 'cause I'm a virgin? I can learn, just tell me what to do—" a train-wreck of thoughts rattled her mind as she watched his face getting stonier. "I'll shut up if this is out of line—I don't want a number or anythin', but how much experience do you have?"

"Uh… sober?"

"Or is it that you don't want...?" She thought she'd quieted his conflict already, but now she was afraid that he was still concerned about her being too young, or about not wanting to be with him for the right reasons, but maybe it was simpler than that.

"Yeah, that's definitely not it," he rubbed at his eyes, "Of course I want you. We gotta be careful about this."

"Is it your leg?"

"It could use some time, but that's not it either, Beth. Listen, I don't want to do this the wrong way—any of it. There's near enough stupid going 'round already. More important than anything is makin' sure you stay safe."

"I told you before, Daryl—I'm gonna die one day,"

He shook his head, in a low growl he said, "Don't say that."

"It's just the truth. You can only keep me alive for so long. You ain't allowed to take on the responsibility of tryin' to make me immortal."

"I'll do whatever I damn well—_nothin' is gonna happen to you._ I won't let it. Not again." His voice raised just enough that she thought she saw the priest's eyes dart briefly in their direction from down the hall.

"You didn't _let_ anything happen," she slid her hand up the inside of his wrist, feeling at the tense muscles just above the crook of his arm, massaging him. "It just happened."

His hands were in fists, he looked into her eyes and she could see right through his anger at the fear that was the source of all of it. He didn't believe her, but if she kept saying it, maybe he'd accept the truth. Maybe it would comfort him when she was gone and he was the last man standing on the pile of corpses that this world was bound to become.

"You carry all this guilt. It's not yours to own, Daryl Dixon. You gotta know, I _am_ gonna die and it ain't your fault. You only ever save my life. I'm gonna die, but first, I want to live."

He tore his eyes away from hers.

"I'm yours. Let me be yours."

Without looking at her, he placed one hand firmly behind her neck and drew her face up against his. He kissed her firmly on her forehead, then moved his lips down to her ear, "We're gonna take it slow."

* * *

**Behind Blue Eyes - The Who**


	20. Blood Offering

"Tell me your stories."

It turned out that Father Gabriel's hospitality did come with a price. This was it and for a moment, Beth thought it was too steep. She and Daryl exchanged looks from across the tabletop.

Dinner had been a quiet, tense affair. Randal was still ashen and haunted, hardly lifting his head, let alone looking anyone in the face. The priest served them each a plate, steamed veggies form the garden beside the cemetery, mashed potatoes and fish. Only Judith was lively, sitting on Beth's lap, still playing with the spoon that Father Gabriel had given her earlier.

"Our story's kinda… long and sad," Beth shrugged, part of her hoping that she could get them out of this, but she already knew that the priest was going to insist. It was in his tone, in the steady way that his eyes rested on her expectantly.

"My daddy's farm didn't get hit all that hard. Not for a long time. We didn't know just how bad things were until we took in another group—Daryl's group," she glanced up at him from across the table. She could tell he was listening intently to her version of the story, though his eyes were fixed on empty space. One arm crossed over his chest, worrying at the bicep on his opposite arm. "Judith's mom was pregnant and… her dad Rick was in charge of the group. We thought we'd saved 'em, all Christian-like of us," she rolled her eyes, laughed nervously, "Turned out we were the ones who needed savin'."

Realizing that it was irrational to feel so nervous about telling this story, she half-hoped that Judith might start to fuss and give her an excuse to leave the table. "They defended us from the herd, and helped us run for it. Most of us got away alive. If we'd still been alone, my whole family would've died in our farmhouse."

She'd thought it before often, but she'd never said it in so many words. She finally caught Daryl's eye, he watched her through messy fringe and she wished she could read his thoughts. Or that he could read hers. Did he know how sincerely she believed that it had all meant to happen exactly as it had? Horrible as it was, it was their life and she was grateful to still have it.

"We ran for a long time," Beth sighed, "Finally we found a place where we thought we could be safe. Forever. A prison. High fences and land and water… it wasn't easy at first. We lost more people. Judith's mom, for one," she kissed the baby on the top of her head. "It was good for a long time. We had a nice rest. Then. Well. It's gone," she started to feel her throat get tight. She'd told their story in monotone, didn't start to feel like she might be moved to tears until she got to the still-fresh pain. "It's just gone now."

"It your story the same as hers then?" Father Gabriel turned to Daryl who shifted uncomfortably.

For a moment she thought that Daryl might refuse to speak. After a moment he cleared his throat, "Yeah. Basically. I mean—before we found the farm I was with Rick's group, but before Rick came it was just… a group. A camp, full of soon-to-be-dead people. Before that it was just me and my brother Merle. I don't really remember our comin' to the farm as being some huge blessing for you folks though. Seems like we kinda messed up your little world for a while."

"We needed it."

He conceded with a gesture that was partial shrug, partial nod.

"And you three are all that's left?"

"Nah. Our people are out there," said Daryl, "We'll track 'em down."

It made Beth's heart soar to hear him speak so confidently about Rick and the others, it was such a huge change from a few weeks ago. She couldn't help but grin.

"Your turn Randal," Father Gabriel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, seemingly to brace himself for whatever was coming.

Gradually, Randal lifted his eyes to glare at the priest.

"After you left town, what happened?"

Randal hadn't eaten as much as the rest of them, in fact he hadn't taken a single bite of chicken or a sip of the water offered him. He'd picked at the veggies a little, now he swallowed and pushed the plate back. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as well, imitating the priest's demeanor. "Alex saw me on the side of the road. When he saw I wasn't a walker, he pulled over, offered me a lift. It was still early days. We were still hoping that someone might have an answer, a cure. Something. We didn't have much gas left, only made it as far as the end of the line. Where all the trains met. Over the next few weeks, more people came. We weren't the first, but we were some of them. We weren't really a _group_. Not right away. We were just together and scared. We tried to help one another out, tried to be good neighbors.

"The more time passed the more we started to feel like… maybe this is it? Maybe this is life now? We lost a few people here and there, when they'd go to get supplies or if a zonbi got though the fences somehow. We thought it was bad, but we didn't know yet. We didn't know just how bad it could be. These four men came; hungry and desperate. We let them in because it's what we always do…" his voice dropped off her for a moment, diminishing into little more than a whisper. "We were so stupid and trusting. It took us two days to even _wonder _if something was wrong. They led us away, one at a time, killed us. They left some notes at first, 'Hey I'm headed to the coast' that kind of thing. They stole and lied and slaughtered us like dumb animals and by the time we worked out what was happening, it was too late for so many of us. They had our weapons. They were stronger than us. More brutal. We lost _so_ many people just trying to kill _four_ guys. Finally we did it. Not a one of us were proper killers and we figured it out then.

"It changed us. It has to? Doesn't it? We were stronger, smarter. The weak had been weeded out, but we still honored them; executed their killers, made sure their names were known."

_At what point did you figure you might as well turn cannibal?_ But Beth found she couldn't bring herself to interrupt him. She still felt the scorn fighting its way out. Part of her felt like she ought to have gone into more detail about what she and Daryl had been through with Rick and the others. They'd been desperate too. They'd been beaten and out-smarted and wrecked by this world a dozen times over, but it was no excuse for the kind of callousness and evil that she'd seen in Terminus.

"Then, the dreams started," Randal hesitated, his eyes getting wide, brimming with moisture. "We never talked about our dreams, because… who wants to relive all that? But these ones were different. It started with Mary. She said that she dreamt that she talked with God. She asked _why_ this happened? He gave her the answer. The dead rose because of us. Because of our sins. Those of us who were left had the chance at redemption, but we needed to offer penance.

"More people started having these same dreams. It was like we were all searching for the answer. What are we supposed to do? What does this world want?" Randal rubbed at his neck uncomfortably, his fingers closing around a silver chain. "We already knew what the world wanted," he said darkly, "We'd seen it. The world wanted blood. The weak turned quickly. Some of the wicked had turned, and some of the good too. The survivors who were left would be tested. Those who were strong, who arrived safely at the end of the line, they would be our offering."

"You tellin' me that you were sacrificing people to _God_?" Daryl couldn't seem to keep quiet any longer. He looked at Randal like he deeply regretted not shooting him earlier.

"The blood of the strong," said Randal his voice rising slightly through it trembled. "We thought that—"

"There ain't no god that wants anyone's damn _blood_."

Beth felt sick to her stomach thinking about everything that Randal was saying. Glancing at the priest, she expected to see some horror plastered on his face as well, instead he looked intensely solemn, though his eyes burned through a layer of tears that wouldn't fall.

"Then _what_ does he want?" demanded Randal in a tense whisper. "The world is dead. He either wants it that way, or he's dead too."

"_Jacked_, the lot of you," said Daryl with a disbelieving shake of his head. "So, what? You were killin' folks anyway and then one day you were short on food, so you just—"

"We did what we had to do. We did what he thought was expected." Randal was still clutching at the chain on his neck. Slowly he lifted it from off his head and gathered the pendant in his palm. He slammed it onto the table with a clatter that made Judith start to whine.

When he pulled his hand away they saw that it was a heavy silver cross; unadorned and tarnished. His eyes were fixed on the priest.

"This is my fault," said Father Gabriel in barely more than a whisper.

Judith began to cry in earnest now. Beth stood up from the table and scooted her back onto her hip, holding her tight and trying to soothe her.

"I destroyed your faith."

"That you did," Randal agreed, a shot of venom in his voice as he finally met the priest's eyes. "Tore it all to pieces."

"You allowed something twisted to grow in its place," the priest buried his face in his hands.

With one hand firmly gripping the back of his chair, Daryl got to his feet with a groan. "You gonna put the girl down for the night?"

Nodding, Beth scooted the baby onto her shoulder and held her fast with one arm while the other pushed her chair back into place. "Thank you for dinner, Gabriel."

"We'll be headin' out in the morning," Daryl growled.

It was more retreat than retirement. The three of them left the priest and the cannibal alone in the kitchen. The first of what was sure to be a hailstorm of tense words exchanged between them before they were totally out of earshot, but Beth couldn't concentrate on what they were saying with Judith's pulsing cries in her ears.

As they made it to the sunday school classroom, Daryl slammed the door shut, cutting of the first real shout of anger; Randal's voice, though it was harder to tell at this decibel. She couldn't making out anything he was saying, but thought she recognized the familiar vicious cadence that indicated a two-symbol curse jumbled in for emphasis.

As long as the two men fought, Judith cried. She'd already eaten and been changed, she looked tired but wouldn't settle. "You miss your daddy, don't you?" Beth found herself repeating. "I know the feeling."

Restless, Daryl was in and out of the room and half dozen times. Whether he was going to play referee or double-check their defenses and alarms, she didn't ask. In time, Judith finished the last of her wails and merely sniffled, looking up at Beth from the soft cushions of the beautiful old cradle that Gabriel had found for her.

"I was just gonna say that you're getting a bit old to cry for no reason… but truth is, you got plenty of reasons."

The door opened as Daryl returned, outside the rest of the church had gone quiet. Father Gabriel and Randal must have gone to separate corners.

"Between poor Lil' Asskicker and those two idiots shriekin' like schoolgirls I wouldn't be surprised if we attracted every herd in Georgia," he lowered himself onto the collection of blankets that Beth had sculpted into a bed.

"There's a lot outside?" Beth's eyes immediately flickered to the one window in the classroom, but she couldn't see any walkers out on the grounds.

"Nah. The priest set up some pretty decent traps around the grounds. The only way to approach the church is right out front, where we came in. There were just a couple of 'em. I handled it, while Gabriel and Randal were doin' couple's therapy." He leaned back, covering his eyes with the back of one arm.

* * *

**Map of the Problematique - Muse**


	21. Search Party

Beth tucked Judith in. The baby had cried herself to exhaustion, and who could blame her? For a moment Beth took in the sight of her, warm, safe, well-feed and sleeping in a proper bed. It was the way it should be; the way it had been back at the prison. More than all that physical stuff though, she knew that it was most important for Judith to be with the people who loved her. In some ways she didn't feel half as easy as she had the day before when it had just been the three of them holed up in the drunk-tank at the little jailhouse. Sure, their conditions had been pretty miserable, especially in comparison to the beautiful church, but the priest and the cannibal still made her nervous. She wasn't sure how much sleep she'd actually get tonight. She wanted to trust that Gabriel was a good man, and that Randal was beaten, but she wouldn't take it for granted. Their safety was too important.

It appeared that Daryl might be sleeping as well; he was drawing deep breaths, his body visibly relaxing. However, as soon as he felt her sit down beside him he sat up just long enough to wrap both arms around her and pull her into his chest. They collapsed onto the ground together, entwined.

She inhaled the scent of him, comforting and familiar. Usually the smells of the woods, rain and campfire were overwhelming, but now, inside this church and recently washed it was different. They were almost like people again, rather than wild things searching for food and shelter out in the woods, grateful for another day of not falling as prey to someone else's appetite. She could still find the traces of blood and dirt that filled the air, rubbed off on both of them, but mostly she sensed him; sweat and flesh and warm breath.

His chin was right on top of her head, his hands searching their way around her back, the tips of his fingers slipped right into the crease of her spine, which only intensified the shivers she was already experiencing. If she dug, she could still find the fear that had given her pause earlier that day, but her desire was winning out. She'd been bold enough to talk to him about it earlier. He said they should take things slow; how hard would it be to change his mind?

If she just lay here, they might fall asleep in each other's arm and that would be it. More likely, they'd both stay awake, worried about their surroundings and their housemates. Beth didn't feel like sleeping.

Opening her eyes, she found her face right in front of the buttons of his (recently rendered sleeveless) polo. He hadn't bothered with the top ones and so the material hung open to show a few inches of his chest. She pressed her lips gently into the very middle of his chest, soft at first, then more firmly after she heard him groan, felt him start to shift his weight around her. Still, he didn't say anything right away, he let her kiss her way up to his neck and start nuzzling and suckling gently just below his jaw.

His hands found a tight grip on either side of her, and he hoisted himself up so that he was over her, partially on top of her. Their mouths met and he kissed her so intensely that she had to take in an audible breath when he finally pulled away from her. The tips of her fingers slipped under his waistband, and she gripped onto his belt, waiting. He hung above, pinning her down with both arms, eyes and body equally betraying the want in him. "You gotta stop."

"Kissing is _slow_," said Beth as innocently as she could with an uncontrollable Cheshire-cat grin threatening to take over her face. "We're just kissing."

"Nah," he growled.

"I ain't doin' nothing." She folded her lips into her mouth, trying to smoother the smile.

"Like _hell_ you ain't." he climbed off of her, snatching his pillow up from the ground.

Any semblance of the smile vanished as she realized she might have driven him back to his room, "Oh, please don't—"

"I told you—I ain't gonna leave you alone," he cut her off as he opened the door, tossing the pillow onto the ground just outside. "I'll be over here." He lay down on his back, just outside the door.

For a few minutes she sat with her arms around her knees, watching him while the last of the sunlight dissipated. She couldn't let it be, but maybe for tonight she could try and give him a break. All the same, she wasn't at all tired, and from the looks of him, Daryl was still pretty keyed up as well.

At a half-crawl she approached the doorway, he looked up when he saw her, but seemed frozen; a deer in the headlights. She lay down on her stomach through the doorway, scooting right up next to him. His chest rose as she folded her arms on top of it, she could fell his heartbeat. "I'm just gonna lie here, okay?" she rested her head, rolled her eyes, but shot a smile at him.

He set his head back down, "You gonna be good?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm," he didn't sound like he believed her.

In moments her breathing came into sync with his, so that as his chest expanded and lifted her up she breathed in steadily. It was unconscious; their bodies falling into this rhythm. He had to feel the heat between them, that couldn't just be her imagination.

It was stupid to feel rejected when she knew how he felt about her. It was unreasonable to demand some kind of reassurance from him, when she was perfectly aware of just how little he relied on his words. She talked herself down from confronting him again, reminding herself that this was new and strange for him too, but all the same she felt it. For a moment she regretted coming over to him. He was watching her face; she didn't want him to know that she was hurt.

"Why you wanna have sex, Beth?"

The question came out of the near-darkness unexpectedly, and for a moment she was stunned to silence. He'd lifted his head up a few inches with both hands behind his neck, looking at her for a response.

"Because… I do?" did she need a reason? But as she contemplated his tone she realized that there was a lot more concern to that question than she'd initially thought.

"You're scared still. I see it. Why do you feel like you gotta rush?"

A blush rose to her cheeks as she thought back over their last few days together. She'd felt the urgency and hadn't questioned it, not even when she acknowledged that she was nervous to have sex with Daryl. She hadn't felt that when she was dating Jimmy. Not even after the world ended and he was one of the last men standing, and her boyfriend. She hadn't felt it with Zack either. She'd enjoyed getting to know them, tried to love them for themselves and then she'd missed them when they were gone. That was all.

"I ain't got the willpower to hold this stance much longer, understand?" He swallowed hard and moved his hands, letting his head fall back against the ground so he was looking up at the ceiling instead of her wide-eyed face, resting against his chest. "I just want you to know, I ain't goin' nowhere. Don't feel like you gotta do somethin' you ain't ready for, to hang onto me or some shit. Don't feel like we've gotta be together tonight 'cause tomorrow we'll be dead. We're survivors."

Out the nearest window a yellow glow broke into their bubble. Beth sat up immediately, Daryl was on his feet a split-second later. Half-limping to the window. It had been the unmistakable fluctuation and fade of headlights. Beth joined Daryl at the window, they were both silent as they peered into the darkness.

The vehicle had passed them, but it was turning around in the road up ahead and in a moment it traveled back to come to a stop facing their grey Saturn across the street. There was no mistaking the military jeep—it was one of Terminus'. From the passenger side, a slender woman with short hair stepped down; the glow of the headlights caught her face at the perfect angle.

"Carol?" said Daryl in total disbelief.

Beth ran as fast as she could out the front doors of the chapel, "CAROL!" She screamed to make sure that they wouldn't mistake her for a walker, and came flying down the hill like a delicate blonde avalanche, leaping clean over the alarms.

Startled, Carol almost lost her footing in the road. The others were getting out of the jeep now too, but Beth couldn't see who else was there yet. She and Carol met in the center of the road and Beth threw her arms around her.

* * *

**I'm On Fire – Bruce Springsteen**


	22. Monsters

Carol, Tyreese, Sasha and Michonne had all made it out. They came out of the jeep and met Beth in the road.

Try as she might, Beth couldn't pick a favorite moment.

It might have been when Daryl came out of the church holding Judith and Carol couldn't even speak, she stumbled towards him, hands over her face and fell weeping over the baby, hiding her face in his shoulder and letting him hold her up with one arm, until she finally took Judith from him and just stood staring at him, shaking her head, stranded between laughing and tears.

It might have been the look of perfect confusion on Sasha's face as she demanded to know how they'd come to find the baby.

Maybe it was Tyreese bursting into tears and having to take a moment to walk away from them and stand in the dark shaking and she suspected, praying.

Or, it was Michonne handing Daryl back his crossbow wordlessly as he passed her katana into her hand where it belonged. They each wore expressions of deep gratitude especially for the other.

But already, the happiness they felt at finding one another was compromised. "Where are the others?" Beth breathed out the question, her heart already sinking.

"Everyone got out of Terminus okay," Michonne said firmly, "They're fine. Carol saw one of the Termites escaping with Judith during the fight. We all split up to look for her—pulled over because of the car," she cocked her head at the Saturn, "It's the same one that woman was driving, isn't it?"

"She ran off the road. We found her bit and dyin', but the baby was safe."

"We're supposed to meet—" Sasha cut herself off as she saw the two figures approaching from the church.

Beth turned and hailed Father Gabriel with one raised hand. Randal was hanging back by the porch. Probably smart, as Beth was fairly certain that someone might recognize him.

"This here's the priest, Father Gabriel," Daryl also hesitated to introduce Randal.

Still holding Judith tight in her arms, Carol approached the priest, "You helped our people?"

"As I'm able," Father Gabriel nodded

"Thank you."

Behind her, Beth could hear Sasha saying something to Michonne and Tyreese, she heard Rick's name, but couldn't make out the rest.

Looking uncomfortable, Father Gabriel nodded again, accepting her thanks with visible guilt. He turned to Daryl his eyebrows knit in confusion, "These are the ones you were trying to track down?"

"Yeah, this is our family—some of 'em, anyway."

"You're all welcome to stay, if you like," said Father Gabriel.

With a pointed glance at Randal, Daryl shook his head, "Nah, you've done enough man. Thanks for the meal and the rest."

"Judith's father shouldn't have to go another hour without knowing she's safe. We were supposed to meet them back at camp, just after sunset," Carol looked at the horizon; the sun had been gone for at least a quarter of an hour now.

"Then, good luck to you," Father Gabriel took a step back, suddenly guarded. He wasn't a fool, Beth realized, she saw him gripping his gun behind his back. He half-expected them to rob him. Yet, he'd still helped them, even when he'd never trusted them?

Then again, maybe she shouldn't be surprised. This was the same man who was trying to rehabilitate a cannibal.

"I'll go get our stuff," Beth took in one last look at the portion of her group standing in the road, unable to stifle the small irrational fear that the second they were out of sight something else terrible would happen to divide them all again. As quickly as she could she jogged back to the Church, slowing down to spare Randal a glance as she passed him.

Back in the church, she stuffed her backpack as quickly as she could, only pausing to look out the window again. She could see Father Gabriel steadily making his way back to the chapel. Michonne was working to secure the stained car-seat from the Saturn into the military Jeep for Judith. Tyreese was holding Judith while Sasha tugged on her toes. Carol and Daryl stood very close to one another in the street, even with the distance between them and the church, she heard Carol laugh and saw her take a hold of Daryl's face in her hands.

"Good luck to you both." It was Randal.

She turned and found him leaning against the wall, looking at the floor sheepishly.

"I really mean that," he muttered, "You deserve a bit of luck, and a break."

"Don't we all?" She slung her backpack over one shoulder and started heading out of the church. She almost made it to the pews when she felt compelled to stop, "Randal?" she called.

He was following her slowly, with shuffling footsteps.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and gave him a tight smile, "If you ever eat someone again, just know that there's a girl out there in the world, who wishes that she'd shot you in the head when she had the chance."

Looking at his shoes, he frowned, "Yeah, I get that."

"Listen to the priest."

"He's a monster, too," Randall shrugged.

As if on cue, Father Gabriel walked in through the front doors, one hand rested on the back of the furthest pew, his silhouette had blue edges from the air outside the open door.

Beth shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't weight down by her backpack, "He's trying. You, I don't know about yet. There wasn't enough time to see."

In lieu of saying goodbye to Father Gabriel, Bath merely gave him a tight one-armed hug on her way out.

Her people were waiting for her.

* * *

**Run – Daughter**


	23. Our Family

Michonne drove, while Tyreese took shotgun, with Judith strapped into the car-seat between them. In the back of the jeep, Daryl was between Beth and Carol, their backs up against the window dividing them from the cab. Sasha lay flat on her back in the bed of the truck, her uninjured arm back behind her head as she gazed up at the stars.

It was a warm, windless night, but all the same, the movement of the car created a whistling breeze.

Carol watched the side of the road for a long time, studying the tree-line and savoring the unreal feeling of relief. She'd been ready to give up hope on all of them. A few hours ago, she thought Judith was probably dead, worried that she'd never see Daryl again and she'd _known_ that Beth was gone. They'd found three of their people, alive and mostly unharmed. It should have been impossible.

Out of the corner of her eye she'd noticed when Daryl slipped his arm across Beth's shoulders, but hadn't thought anything of it, not for several minutes, until she turned to say something to Daryl.

Beth was folded into him, one hand resting on his inseam, he had both arms secure across her. For a moment, she was so stunned she forgot what she was going to say. Daryl wasn't known for physical displays of affection, though he was certainly capable.

She blinked into the air directly in front of her, jaw open until she felt a breeze against her tongue and snapped her mouth shut. She searched for a feeling, but couldn't land on one just yet. She was still high on finding Judith and them alive; there would be time to process any changes to their relationship later. The important thing was that they were all safe.

In time she remembered her question, "Rick's thinking that maybe we should all go to DC to protect Eugene. What do you think?"

"I figured he might," Daryl shifted his weight slightly to glance over at Carol. Next to him Beth began to gently rub the top of his thigh. "Seems like the thing to do, don't it? World ends… if there's some way to help this mess, why not, you know?"

"Could be dangerous," Carol pointed out.

"It's all dangerous," he countered and she had to admit that he was right. "Stay in one place, it's dangerous. Travel, it's dangerous."

"Whatever happens, we've gotta stay vigilant this time," Sasha chimed in. "That's what went wrong at the prison. We got too comfortable."

"We did everything we could," Carol argued wearily. "We had a contingency plan."

"No one expected a _tank_." Beth murmured.

"Maybe we should have," Sasha shrugged awkwardly with her good shoulder. "In any case, I'm going to DC. If I've learned anything from all this, it's that it helped to have something you're trying to accomplish. Maybe this whole… finding a cure thing is just a fantasy, but maybe not. I'll fight for a maybe."

"Whatever Rick decides," said Daryl, "and I think the same should go for everyone. We oughta stick together. That's what _I_ learned."

"But DC—" Sasha started to argue.

"That's what Rick'll choose," Daryl said confidently. "He'll wanna save the world. At least try."

"But Carl and Judith are what's most important to him," Beth pointed out, "If he thinks it's better to find someplace to keep them safe…"

"Beth is right. Rick hasn't decided yet, and that's why," said Carol.

"They could die just as easily 'someplace safe' as they could on the way to DC," said Sasha firmly, "His kids _are_ his top priority, but I think he knows that maybe curing the world is ultimately the best way to keep his kids safe. Make a good world for them."

Wordlessly, Daryl merely pointed two fingers at Sasha to signify agreement.

That ended the discussion. Carol had to acknowledge privately that she was feeling more persuaded by what Sasha said. She hadn't gotten much time to talk to Rick since they busted out of Terminus. He'd only said five words directly to her, _"Thank you for protecting Judith."_ She tried to discern what she could from his looks and attitude.

He hadn't said anything about Karen and David, or about her subsequent banishment. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to talk about it. She would have to say some hard words, and he would get mad and speak to her in that quiet, vicious voice that he used when he was trying not to yell. He was too distracted by finding his daughter and getting all of them safe to deal with it just yet, but she wasn't going to let him push her out again. This was her family. She'd only ever tried to protect them.

When they made it to their after-dark meeting spot she was surprised to see that they were the first ones back. They'd stayed out late enough, for a full quarter of an hour, Carol worried that the other two cars had run into trouble.

Their camp was far enough off the road that they shouldn't have to deal with any travelers, a roughly even distance between three nearby towns. They'd arranged before-hand to stay all together during the dark hours after they looked through those three towns for any signs of the baby or the grey Saturn that took her.

Everyone stayed immobile in the jeep, a tangible uneasy kept them all silent and captive, waiting for disaster. The worst thing, however, would be if they didn't come. Unbidden, but unavoidable, Carol started to wander mentally through that most tragic of scenarios. What if they waited for hours—what if they waited all night and the other cars never returned?

Daryl and Beth were holding hands now, Carol found herself staring at their clasped hands. She thought she should feel something. Jealousy? Should she be hurt? Every time she tried to examine herself something would distract her, some thought of Sophie or Sophia, thoughts of Rick, relief at Judith's continued safety. She pictured Mika and Lizzie in their final days. She thought about Tyreese and how she'd lied to him, thought about his warm yet strong gaze; totally without judgment. In her mind she pictured the faces of the dead and living.

She thought of Daryl too after a while. She'd always had this impression of him as a wild animal, slowly acclimating to domestication. He was like her, in a lot of ways. Broken. That was why she'd always felt so drawn to him, why she'd gone out of her way to get close to him. Even when he actively tried to push her back. She'd even risked his anger just to show him that she actually did care about him; that he deserved to be cared about. She saw so much of herself in him.

Maybe, too much. Maybe that was their problem.

He was still her best friend, but was she his?

Beside him, Beth was still wide awake, watching the dark with worried eyes, her mouth drawing into a troubled frown. She was such a pretty, young girl; affectionate and sweet. Of course he'd want her.

Glistening headlights in the difference stirred them all back to full alertness. As one, she could feel their collective hope that it was one of the other cars returning, but on top of that was their shared fear that it wouldn't be. Another pair of headlight appeared just behind the first and Carol started to gamble, her heart thumping as she climbed down from the jeep and waved to them.

Behind her, Michonne and Tyreese were unstrapping Judith.

The first car stopped; a big-ass truck with a lift. They'd taken it even though it would waste more fuel because the tires were in excellent condition. From the passenger-side, Rick jumped down, hand constantly at his hip when he was nervous. "Did you find her?!" he shouted.

"YES!" Carol had never been so excited to answer a question in her life.

"She's here! She's fine!" Tyreese called.

"Beth and Daryl are fine too," Sasha added.

"BETH!" from the second car, a sedan, Maggie had already seen the glow of her sister's pale hair in the truck headlights and was hobbling as quickly as she could on an injured leg. The sister's tackled one another and fell into the dirt, a mess of long limbs.

Stumbling like a drunk-man, Rick made his way towards his daughter, face screwed up in emotion. Along the way he grabbed a hold of Daryl's hand and gripped it tight, dragging him along as he went to claim the baby from Tyreese's arms. Carl was right behind him, wearing a smile that Carol hadn't seen matched in a very long time.

The Greene sisters were babbling to one another at inhuman decibels. Carol only caught part of it.

"You thought I was dead?" Beth guessed with a gale of happy laughter.

Maggie sobbed in reply.

Abraham and Rosita took charge of arranging the cars in a protective circle, then Eugene and Tara set up alarms. They gave the others their space, but it wasn't long before someone pointed out the desperate need to gather everyone together. They grew more conscious of the nighttime and the need for quiet, but still, they gathered all together in the midst of the cars.

Carol drank in the sight of all of them together and had to swallow a flood of unexpected emotion. A lot of people were missing… but only one of them was still alive. She met Tyreese's eyes and for that sweaty split-second she thought he could see the guilt on her. Sophie and the other mothers who'd holed up at Terminus had about two weeks of supplies. Carol may have only been a Termite for a few hours, but she'd learned about _their _contingency as soon as she could. It they'd done what they were supposed to, then the Mothers would be locked up in their house for two weeks. They hoped that would be enough time for the herd to move on.

"I think we should all stay together. I understand some of you might still be interested in finding a safe place to hunker down. Try and build up a life again. I'm all for that," Rick spoke to the group at large though he was having a tough time tearing his gaze away from Judith's face. He was still holding her in his arms, his large hands wrapped around her gently. He looked like he might never put her down again. "That's what I want too, but first, I'm going to DC with Abraham, Eugene and Rosita. See what's left. Maybe help 'em find a way to beat this thing. I doubt it'll be easy," he swallowed and took a moment to tear his gaze away from the baby and look a few of them square in the eye, "But hell, what is?"

Around the circle, Carol could see several heads nodding.

"Then, we'll find that safe place, best we can we'll protect ourselves. If we stay together, we're stronger. That's why, I'll ask every one of you to go with us. I'll tell you outright, it's what I want. If you wanna take your chances out there, without us, I won't stop you, but I'm readin' a general vibe of unity. Is anyone thinking of leaving?"

No one was. By the expressions on their faces, it seemed that Carol had been the closest to offering anything like an objection. In the end, she felt the same way. It was most important that they stay together.

"Alright," Rick nodded, "We got a look at Terminus today. It's still overrun with walkers, but we're putting together a plan to get them to move on. Before we start on our way to DC, I say we send in a group to get supplies. We'll need 'em. The rest of us stay back, not too far though, in case there's trouble."

"When isn't there trouble?" Glenn pointed out.

Rick sighed, "We don't know what happened to all the Termites. Some of them probably survived, and maybe they've even got the same idea we do. Maybe, they're even interested in rebuilding."

"Good luck," muttered Sasha.

"From there, we'll hit the road."

"When do we start?" asked Glenn.

"Just as soon as we've got everythin' we need. For tonight, feel free to rest. In the morning, we'll put together a solid plan."

They piled into the back of the jeep, the truck-bed and laid flat the seats of the sedan. Everyone found their place quickly. She saw Beth trying to help Maggie rewrap her injured leg while she told her about getting shot at Terminus. She and Glenn were claiming the sedan, but by the looks of the grip that Maggie had on her sister's wrist, Carol doubted she'd let her get more than six inches away from her tonight.

In the end, the only people who ended up sleeping on the ground were Tyreese, Carol, Eugene, Tara and Daryl who picked as comfortable of spots as they could. The ground was damp in most places and slice with foul-smelling mud, but there were two patches of mostly dry and not-so-lumpy grass. Carol found herself right beside Tyreese, who had a dark and pensive look on his face.

Without asking, she knew he was thinking about Sophie. She bit her lip, remembering the nightmares he'd suffered from before. Would he have them again tonight, because of her lie?

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" he whispered to her.

"Going back to Terminus?" she murmured back to him.

"Yeah. We fought so hard to get out, and now we're goin' right back?" Restlessly he scratched at his beard.

Carol propped her head up on one arm, her elbow digging into the grass. Softly, she finally answered, "I would have gone back anyway, even if Rick didn't want us to."

"Why?" he knit his dark brows at her.

She swallowed and looked away, "I'll tell you before we head in, okay?"

He looked like he wanted to demand an answer, but instead he simply nodded; still so trusting. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and rested his head.

A few feet away, Daryl, Tara and Eugene were trying to find an acceptable configuration on the ground. She heard the movement stop after a few seconds, but the silence didn't last long.

"This is so weird," Tara complained. "Why am I sleeping between two men?"

"Weren't quick enough getting to the jeep," Eugene answered automatically.

"Go to sleep," Daryl begged.

"I'm not gonna be able to sleep—I mean no offense—you seem like stand-up guys, but all the same, could you just give me some reassurance, or whatever? Neither of you are perverts, right?" Tara whined.

"I wouldn't know what to do with you," said Eugene tonelessly.

"You don't gotta worry about me, I'm attached," muttered Daryl.

"Alright… alright… that's pretty good," Tara's tone relaxed a little and she let out a slow breath.

Unexpectedly, Carol had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. She couldn't explain it, even to herself. Maybe she was just at the point of exhaustion where everything was rendered under a light of audacity, or maybe she just couldn't afford to connect to her own pain. In any case, hearing him say what she'd already suspected in so many words, actually made her grin, even as she turned her cheek into the grass.

* * *

**Salvation – Gabrielle Aplin**


	24. Left Behind

For Beth the next week was a heady blur. She couldn't stop grinning, found herself giving into the urge to hug absolutely everyone, but especially Maggie, Carl, Glenn, Judith and, of course, Daryl. It gradually got less painful as her ribs healed completely. She checked on the bruises during every bathroom break, but the liniments seemed to have worked exactly as they hoped. Her hand wasn't healing as quickly. She still had to keep it wrapped day and night, to avoid infection as the skin kept breaking open all over again. The more she used her hands.

Every night when she climbed in between Maggie and Glenn in the back of the sedan to fall asleep she worried she might wake up and find that it had all been a dream. What if she was unconscious in the back of that car? What if it had only been seconds since Daryl called out to her and tried to futilely to chase her and her abductor down. Maybe she'd made up the whole thing, Brady and Terminus, Judith being alive and Daryl coming back to her.

It was easier to fight these nervous thoughts in the daylight hours. Having her family back made all the difference. She didn't care that there was hardly any food, or that they were still living under glum circumstances in the woods. She had everything that mattered to her in the faces of those she might have lost.

The only thing that could dampen her spirits was how little she saw of Daryl. It only made sense, they were back to being in a larger group, which meant they were safer, but it also meant that they each had jobs to do, separate purposes that worked together to help maintain the whole. Beth and Daryl always had very different jobs; it was the main thing that kept them from ever getting to really know one another before they found themselves alone together after the prison was taken.

Every day Rick would take a couple of people out to look for supplies. He tried to only take those who were well-enough recovered, except that was no one. The only people who had managed to come through the fight at Terminus completely unscathed were Carl, Michonne, Carol and Rosita. Everyone else had at least one pain that they were tending to.

Daryl pretended like his leg didn't bother him, and Rick let him, because he needed his help. He limped after him, crossbow in hand, always watching out for Rick's back. For the first three days, Rick, Daryl, Carol, Michonne and Abraham came back nearly empty handed. They had barely enough food or fresh water and were running out of medical supplies.

Back in camp, Beth resumed her usual duties of being Judith's caretaker. She also assisted Bob in helping to tend to the still-angry wounds that had been sustained during their escape from Terminus. When Judith was sleeping, she'd leave Carl to keep watch and span out of the camp as far as he'd let her, looking for any kind of food that they could forage. The few berries and mushrooms that she found weren't nearly enough to fill their stomachs, but every little bit counted.

On the seventh day in camp, Rick and Daryl brought the group back with nothing but a couple of dead rabbits, salvaged water, probably taken from a water-heater somewhere and a pound of spam. It was the worst haul yet, but she didn't think it quite accounted for the grim expression on Daryl's face as he marched right past Bob, hardly lifting his eyes as the doctor practically begged him to sit down for a minute so he could take a look at his leg.

From the way he stalked, it was clear he didn't want to be harassed right now. He set his crossbow down on the edge of the patch of grass where he was sleeping and lay down, visibly exhausted.

Bob watched him futilely for a moment, then with a sigh turned to flag down his next most urgent returning patient, Rick, who obediently began to unwrap his mangled hand so that Bob could inspect and rewrap it for him. For a split second Rick's eyes met Beth's, then flickered over to Daryl.

She wondered uneasily if Rick was thinking that Daryl wouldn't be grumpy with her too. She wasn't so sure. All the same, she took a deep breath and walked over to him, feeling a pang of sadness as she realized that a few days ago she never would have hesitated to approach him for any reason. Being back with the group was wonderful, but it made things different, she wasn't sure, quite yet, how to deal with this unwanted distance.

He sat up as she got near, eyes bright and alert. There was anger there, but whether or not he'd direct any of it at her remained to be seen. His black-eye was faded, and the cuts were healing now that he'd finally had a few days where no one was trying to aim anything at his face.

"Can I see?" she hadn't meant for her voice to sound so timid, but that was how it came out and how it sounded to her. She knelt down beside his bad leg.

"_Umhum_," he relented.

She rolled up his pant-leg and gingerly unwrapped the bandages. "It looks really good. Feels okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

She began to rewrap his leg, letting him have his silence for a few minutes, if that was what he wanted. She had things she wanted to say to him, but was willing to give it some time. It seemed more important to find out what was wrong, why he and the others who'd gone on the run looked so depressed. She was just about to ask when he anticipated her.

"…We went back today, back to Father Gabriel and Randal. I figured we could clear out the last of what was left in the vet's office and that market," Daryl stared down at his hands, rubbing the pads of his fingers against his knuckles slowly, "It was all cleaned out. Empty. There was smoke coming from the hill. The church. It was all burned out. Black. No sign of 'em."

Beth's heart dipped. "That's awful."

"I think it might've been Randal," restlessly he plucked the dagger from his belt and began scratching at the ground, "'Cause I feel like maybe it ain't the kind of idea that just anyone comes up with. To get medical supplies from a vet's office, I mean. I wonder if he got the idea from us."

Uncomfortable with this theory, Beth felt a little bit faint being on her knees. She sat back in the ground and stuck her feet out in front of her instead, leaning back on her bent wrists and looking at the dirt.

"We should have asked Father Gabriel to come with us," grumbled Daryl, "I didn't trust him, but lookin' back… he was alright."

"You think he'd have come if we asked?" Beth had wondered the same thing at the time. It didn't seem right to leave him all on his own, but it didn't seem like he'd be willing to leave his church.

"Probably not," Daryl shrugged, "Next time I hesitate to kill a damn cannibal, remind me of this, okay?"

Beth nodded, feeling worse. She should have just shot him in the back of the head the moment she saw him in that store.

Looking at the ground, she didn't see him move, but suddenly felt his hand on her calf, gradually moving upwards towards her knee, rubbing out muscles she hadn't even realized needed it until he touched her.

"Been on your feet all day?" he guessed.

"You too," she pointed out, but before she could return the favor he tugged the leg of his trousers back down and crawled over to sit right next to her.

"Rick's just biddin' his time 'til everyone's fit for battle again. The chances of us finding anything decent 'round here ain't all that good. Never were." One moment he would press so firmly into her muscle that it hurt, but he seemed to have a sense for how hard was too hard, because right when she was about the reach the threshold of bearable pain he would ease off. He worked his way down until he got to her boot, which he then slipped off to rub her ankle and foot.

"How are we gonna lead the herd away from Terminus?"

"Flares. Fireworks." Daryl glanced over where Rick stood, talking with Carl, "We found 'em a few days ago. We're ready to go, except for everyone bein' so dead on their feet. Gotta find food though."

"You anxious to get on with it?"

"The longer we wait the more likely it is them Termites come back to salvage what they can from their old camp—or somethin' else," his voice dropped to a mutter as he added, "always something."

"You should stay here tomorrow. Glenn's gettin' better, and he's goin' crazy being cooped up here. Let him take your place. You could use a break, for your leg," she added, unable to hide a blush.

"I thought you said my leg's lookin' good?"

She raised and lowered one shoulder, "Maybe I just want you 'round."

He almost smirked, one corner of his mouth twitching, but he hid it back inside his goatee so quickly that it could have been her imagination. "Maybe you should come out with us. Let Maggie have some mama practice."

"I'd like that, too," Beth admitted, narrowing her eyes at him, wondering if he'd done that mind-reading trick again. This was exactly what she'd wanted to talk to him about. "I love havin' Judith back. But, at the prison, I felt like it was all I was good for, you know? My dad always said 'we all got jobs to do' and I figured that was mine. Bein' off with you, I realized that it ain't enough. I still wanna take care of her, but I gotta know how to do other stuff too. I'll never be all that useful in this world if I can't protect myself, or her… or you."

He looked up sharply at that and shyness forced her to avert her gaze. "You're plenty capable, Greene, but we can't let you get rusty."

She was relieved to hear that he agreed with her on this. "I just… don't wanna get left behind, now that we're all back together."

"I got an idea, come on, let's go have ourselves a chat with the man," he put her boot back on her foot, got up and offered Beth his hand.

She took it and felt a flutter when he didn't let go right away, but kept a firm grip as he led her over to where Rick was now talking with Glenn.

"Bob's already cleared me, I can see fine—breathe fine. No lasting harm," Glenn was saying as they approached.

"Good timin'," said Daryl under his breath. He cleared his throat, "Hey Rick, mind if we try somethin' different tomorrow?"

"I'm open to suggestions," Rick turned away from Glenn who looked mildly annoyed at being interrupted, but was clearly making an effort at patience.

Daryl took his hand back, "I'm thinkin' Glenn oughta get back out there."

At that Glenn shot Daryl a grateful look.

Rick raised his eyebrows, "That's what he's just been tellin' me."

"Yeah," Daryl shifted his weight off his bad leg, "He can take my place."

"What'll you be doing? Hunting?" Rick guessed, eyes flickering over the woods.

"Leg can probably take on the terrain now, and I figure I bring Beth along. I was teachin' her how to track. She's gettin' pretty good."

Glenn and Rick wore identical expressions. Like they were trying hard not to give away any kind of surprise or disbelief that they might be feeling, but they failed in that their eyebrows slowly dipped inwards.

"Judith?" Rick asked.

"I haven't talked to Maggie yet, but between her and Carl, I think they can handle a day of baby-duty," Beth admitted.

"Fine with me," Rick finally said, his lips seemed to try and form other words for a few seconds but he finally just nodded then turned and exchanged a look with Glenn.

"Me too?" said Glenn hopefully.

"You gotta clear it with Maggie," Rick smirked at him. "Both of you—all of you," he added.

* * *

Out of all of those still nursing keen injuries, Maggie was probably the most stir-crazy. Like Beth, she'd been in a perpetually good mood since being reunited and safe with everyone, but behind the sweet smile on her face, Beth could see a growing frustration. She wanted a purpose and a goal to accomplish, just like the rest of them. She agreed to take care of Judith more readily than Beth had expected.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Really?" Beth smiled.

"It'll be a change of pace. I could use that," Maggie sighed. She was sitting on the passenger seat of the sedan, rewrapping her own leg. She'd been shot slightly higher than Daryl, actually nicking the artery in her thigh. The only reason she'd survived was because Bob had been so close by and able to stop her exsanguinating in time. "Tracking with Daryl?" she furrowed her brow, her voice getting just high enough to give Beth pause before she answered.

"Yeah, well, we need food. Daryl shouldn't go alone."

"He has before," Maggie pointed out.

"When the woods were familiar. Our own. Or, there was that time…" she didn't have to finished the sentence, she knew that Maggie was thinking about the incident on their farm.

"Yeah, you better go along," Maggie decided, thinking it over. "You can take care of each other." She started to roll her leggings back down. "Can't you?"

Feeling like she understood what her sister was really asking her, Beth nodded and said, "Yes," quietly.

"Good," Maggie shoved her boot back on her foot.

Gradually, Beth started to turn and walk away, she didn't make it more than three steps before Maggie offered a parting thought.

"Hey, Beth? It true that… it's dangerous, carin' about people. It's also the whole point; it's all we got left."

* * *

**Devil's Backbone - The Civil Wars**


	25. Wilderness

Daryl woke her long before the sun came up. In silence, they got their gear together and left camp, slithering their way around the walker alarms. He had her take the crossbow again, throwing her right back into point, while he stayed a few steps behind.

"It's so dark, I can hardly see anything," she confessed. They'd tracked when it was this dark before, but she hadn't been any good at it. She needed more experience. The world looked different in the dark, but it wasn't impossible to find the same trails and signs of disturbance that simply stood out more under the light of day.

Daryl didn't even comment, but pointed up to the sky.

Following the line from his finger up past the trees she could make out a full moon. Without words, his meaning was clear; _it could be worse_.

"I hear water."

"Uhum,"

She followed the sound of the trickling stream uphill. It wasn't a lot of water, but it sounded steady. It could be a frequented spot by a lot of animals.

"They know we're here, and they're scared," murmured Daryl, "They got every right to be."

Any prey nearby would bolt, that was why tracking was so important. Initially the animals would have enough energy to run far away from them, but they would get tired, or complacent or they would get to a place where they felt safe and they would have to stop running eventually. That was when it was time to fire a bolt.

"Deer pellets," she stepped around them, eyes searching for a trail.

"Not fresh," Daryl pointed out.

It wasn't until the sun did finally come up that they were able to begin an earnest stalk. From the hoof stride and shape, Daryl could tell that it was a wild pig.

"We're getting close, aren't we?"

"How can you tell?" Daryl asked with a tone of voice that she recognized from before the world fell.

With a little grin she glanced back at him, "You askin' me to show my work?"

"Sometimes it's instinct, but sometimes you'll find you can actually explain what you're seeing. Why do you think we're getting' close to miss piggy?"

"When the pig stepped here, it pinned the side of that leaf into the mud. It's still all slick with dew. I don't think this happened longer than a half hour ago, otherwise it would have started to dry in the sun."

"Decent, Greene. Keep going."

In less than an hour they'd caught up with the pig. It was bigger than Beth would have guessed from the stride, but not too big for her to carry. For a moment she felt too nervous to fire. The pig was foraging beside a large tree. She and Daryl were still a good twenty feet back, but every time she tried to get any closer she felt like she was making too much noise, alerting the pig to their presence. She briefly considered handing the crossbow over to Daryl and asking him to finish it off for her. Now that she saw how big it was and was thinking about how much the meat would be appreciated by their group she wasn't sure she wanted to risk her amateur skills scaring it off.

Lips tight, she glanced over at Daryl.

'_Go on,'_ he mouthed, nodding towards their prey. It was just the encouragement she needed; he had confidence in her to be able to do this.

Beth took aim and fired.

The pig squealed and broke into a frantic run, the bolt jutted out of its side, bobbing awkwardly as it stumbled into the trees.

"Come on!" Daryl clamped a hand down on her shoulder before he leapt up to chase down the injured pig. It didn't get very far before he caught it and finished it quickly, retrieving the bolt.

She'd done it. Beth hadn't realized she was holding her breath until Daryl handed her the bolt back and she released a lungful, the scent of blood was strong as she inhaled again. She'd never much liked hunting. She used to complain when her daddy wanted her to kill their chickens, but now, she couldn't talk against it. It was a skill that she needed to pick up. Initially, before she even got to know him, she'd always respected Daryl for his skills.

Daryl lashed the pig's legs together and slung it over his shoulder, refusing his crossbow when she tried to give it back. "Nah, I'm just pack-mule today. Come on, we can keep huntin' while we circle 'round to take a look at some of the traps."

Because they already had the pig, tracking kept slipping from the forefront of her mind so that a couple of times, Daryl had to remind her to keep an eye out for more trails to follow.

As the day wore on, she found her mind wandering back to their time together, before she'd been kidnapped by Brady. It felt like they were back there right now, except sweeter because her mind didn't turn to worry about or mourn their lost companions so much. She could enjoy the peaceful, unchanging nature of the woods and Daryl's comforting presence.

"It worked out," Beth hadn't meant to say anything out-loud, the thought had crossed her mind and almost as if she were trying to convince herself, she said it out-loud.

"What?"

"Oh, it's just…" Beth blushed, "I was thinkin' about how, if I hadn't gotten myself all kidnapped, then maybe Sasha would've died, and then how would they have gotten those weapons and been able to fight their way out of Terminus? You, probably. You could've gotten them the weapons, but Sasha would still be dead, and maybe Judith…" she shuddered to think about what might have happened to the baby if they hadn't found her. "I was just thinkin' about all that. About how badly I didn't want to leave you." She lowered the crossbow to her side as they slowed to a halt in the trees.

Taking it as a cue to take a rest, Daryl lowered the pig onto the ground and faced her.

"You remember? In the funeral home? Did you hear me yell out that I wasn't gonna leave you?" guilt crept into her as she looked at his face. She knew he remembered. "I wish I didn't have to, but at the same time, if I'd stayed… all kinds of bad stuff might've happened. It's like any way it goes, it's all bad. I know it's selfish. I just didn't want to leave you."

Shaking his head slowly from side to side, Daryl stepped into her, one hand finding its place on her shoulder, "You didn't."

His gaze was so intense that she had to drop her eyes to the space between them. She knew what he was trying to say, and it rendered her momentarily speechless.

"I couldn't… all the time. Things you said, feelings and sometimes just your face or your eyes," he lifted her chin gently, "Came back to me 'long the way, when I needed it bad. You were gone, but you didn't leave." Tentatively at first he raised his hand to his chest, then pressed his palm firmly over his heart. "You didn't leave."

Propping his crossbow against her leg on the ground, she slipped her arms around his waist and felt his protective embrace close firmly around her shoulders. She'd always hoped to find someone warm and loving; he was more than that. As she drew back she felt his forehead staying close to hers but neither of them went in for the kiss right away.

"You were right," Beth told him, "I wasn't ready. I was racing. Thanks, for making us hold off."

In reply, he cupped the back of her head in his hand and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"Now I… I don't know," she admitted, "Maybe I'm still not. But, I wanna be."

He nodded, indicating that he understood.

"Is that alright? I mean, is that enough?"

"Yeah. It's enough, if it's what you're really sure you want."

Rising onto her toes she pressed her lips against his.

"Come on," he hefted the pig onto his back again and she took up the crossbow. It was noon before they made it to the first trap, which was still undisturbed and waiting for a victim. They took short breaks, every hour or so, sharing what little food they'd brought with them and speculating about what they might find in DC, but mostly they simply enjoyed being together, telling stupid jokes, celebrating like fools when they did find another rabbit and a squirrel in two of the other traps.

Once they were ready to make their way back to camp, she listened to his stories, mostly about animals he'd tracked for days, sometimes he finally caught them and sometimes they got away. Fights he'd gotten into for reasons he didn't remember or had never really known in the first place. Compromising situations that his brother had constructed, and a few times when he hadn't been arrested, but probably should have been.

"When Merle was in jail, or just run off alone, shacked up or strung out… I'd usually disappear to the woods for a while. Wouldn't see people for weeks at a time. Hunt when I was hungry. Sleep when I was tired, 'casionally I'd wander back into town to get cigarettes."

"You didn't have anyone checkin' in on you? Other family or… nosy neighbors?"

"Nah. It was just me and Merle. Our neighbors kept their noses out of it."

It had always been interesting to her, how much her life had changed since the walkers showed up. "Our neighbors all rushed over when it first started to happen. Wantin' to know if we were all okay, if we knew anythin' that they didn't. Really, though, I think they just wanted to pull together. Be with people."

"Makes sense… never really felt that before all this. I'd stay away from people as much as I could get away with. Now, I get it. You need people."

"Do you ever miss being a man in the wilderness?" Beth didn't realize precisely what she'd said until the question left her mouth. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from smiling as his eyes shifted pointedly around the trees, a little smile creeping onto his face.

Together they laughed for a moment then kept on walking. They were nearing camp. It hadn't seemed like more than a few hours, but Beth could see in the distance that they sun was well past the middle of the sky. They'd been out in the woods for the whole day.

"I don't miss it," Daryl finally said. "It's better, havin' people who rely on you, who are prayin' you come home safe. Even if it means I gotta take my turn to hope n' worry 'bout them when the time comes."

* * *

**Fools – Lauren Aquilina**


	26. AU

She fell into step following Daryl, letting him show her the quickest path back to camp. He seemed to be handling the terrain just fine, she watched for him a wince or give some other sign that his leg bothered him, but if it did, he disguised it well.

They stopped for one last rest before taking on the last full mile back to the others, splitting their final water-bottle.

"I know that… mostly, you were just lookin' out for me. Before, when I was a little…"

"Anxious?" he gave her a word to try out and she nodded.

"But it's not just that. What's bothering you?"

For a silent stretch it didn't look like he was going to answer the question.

She chewed on her tongue a moment then said, "I want us to be together, but if you still feel weird about it..."

He nodded, looking at the ground, when he did speak he let the words drop of his tongue slowly, as if each one was a risk, "I was thinkin' if the world hadn't gone to shit, there's no way we'd have ever even met. If we did—it could never've been like this." He shifted his weight, nervously thumbing at his knife. "I think about what you would've been like, sometimes. I can picture it; you're walking 'round some smart campus somewhere, with your books and your plans, big ol' smile on your face. Waving to your friends. All the young college guys lookin' at you. Maybe you like one of 'em and maybe he's a real good guy. He likes your singin' and maybe you like his too. You're all worried to take him back to the farm to meet your dad and mom, and that's all you really gotta worry about. You're never hungry or wondering where you're gonna sleep. Nothing's comin' for you. Sometimes… I think about how it oughta be, and I know I'd never belong there."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Beth crossed her arms over her stomach. She could imagine it too, though it actually seemed like he'd put more thought into it than she had. "Everythin' happens the way it's supposed to. I'm not _glad_ that the world is over," she rolled her eyes, "Of course I'm not… but it's my life. I own it. I fought for it… Besides, I think you're wrong about not belonging there."

"Nah, I ain't," said Daryl with a self-deprecating shake of his head.

"Let's say that yeah, if none of it ever happened… I'd go to college," she conceded, trying to think of a scenario when she and Daryl might have met one another. "Otis was teachin' me to play guitar. In school, I make these friends who are all real musical and they wanna have a band. So during my first performance we go to some little run-down bar and I'm so scared… but you're there, you and Merle, getting' lit and listening to me try and sing and not cry."

The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile as he imagined the scene.

"What happens next?" she smiled widely at him.

Daryl frowned, "I dunno. Merle probably likes your singing—he did like it, by the way. Don't know if I ever mentioned that. But if he's drunk, he's probably bein' a jackass, might get himself kicked out. Let's say I don't even notice 'cause I'm lookin' at you."

"Oh, poor Merle," Beth laughed.

"Jackass," Daryl muttered, shaking his head, "He takes off and leaves me there. So, after your last song I head out."

"Wait—you don't come tell me you liked my singing while we're packing up?" Beth narrowed her eyes at him.

Daryl snorted, "No."

"Come on! I was so nervous."

"I wouldn't do that," Daryl shook his head at the ground, trying to hide a smile, "No way I'd go up to you and say anythin'. I never did that kind of thing. 'Specially not to a beautiful girl with one of them black X's on the back of her hand."

"Even if you'd been drinking?" her heart had done a little flip when he called her beautiful.

"No way, Greene. Ain't enough social lubricant in Georgia."

She sighed, "Alright, well, so you're walking home, and I'm drivin' down that same road and I see you and recognize you and I pull over."

Groaning, Daryl rubbed at his eyes, "Dammit, girl, are you offering me a _ride_?"

"Of course!"

"I know your dad raised you smarter—" but he was laughing now, "You ain't gonna pick up some dirty, strange-ass drunk stumblin' his way home from the bar."

"Sure I would—I saw you at my show, hanging on every word. You need a ride," her smile widened. "I'm real nice."

"But you forgettin', I _ain't_," said Daryl, pointing a warning finger at her, "You ask me to get in that car and see what happens."

"Of course I ask, I say 'hey, need a ride?' and you say—"

"_Hell_ no," says Daryl. "You better not be askin' any redneck sumbitch to get in your car, Greene."

"You don't know I'm called Greene yet—you only heard my stage name. I point out that you must be a nice guy if you're warnin' me that you ain't, and then I tell you to get in the car again."

"That don't make no sense. I say 'no thanks' again."

"But it's raining."

"Is it?" Daryl knitted his brows.

"It's _pouring_, get in! I'd feel bad leaving you all alone out here, soakin' wet and abandoned by your brother."

"How'd you know my brother took off?"

"'Cause I was payin' attention! I got a bossy older sister who's always tellin' me what to do. But she's never taken off like that and left me anywhere," Beth shrugged, "That sucks. Come on, it's just a ride."

Taking a deep breath Daryl nodded mildly, "Alright. I'd probably get in," he relented. "But I'd spend the whole ride beggin' you not to make a habit of picking up hitch-hikers, least of all drunken hicks."

"I'd think that was real sweet of you," she strolled right up to him, taking a hold of his vest on either side, "I'd like you, Daryl Dixon." She kissed his collarbone, then his neck.

His fingers found their way to the seam between the top of her jeans and the hem of her t-shirt. His hands continued around her waist, lightly brushing her bare skin. It sent a thrill all through her body. She pressed her hips more firmly against his.

"We should get back," she sighed inwardly, catching a glimpse of the sun over his shoulder. The sooner they got back, the sooner they could have roast pig ready for everyone.

The last mile back to camp went by quickly, it was downhill all the way, whereas when they left in the dark hours of the morning, they'd been trekking up-hill. When they returned there was a lot more movement and noise that usual, and to Beth's surprise Rick and his group were back already.

"Good, you're here—_and you brought bacon_!" Glenn met them at the border. He seemed livelier than he'd been all week. Going out on the run must have done him some good.

"What's goin' on?" Beth looked past him to the rest of their group. It seemed like they were packing everything up, pulling up stakes.

"There's a herd coming this way—nothing like the one that tore through Terminus, but big enough." He took the pig from Daryl, appreciating the weight of it with both hands before he slung it over his back. "We're gonna relocate. There's a little motel that we cleared earlier, outside of the line of fire."

Beth barely had time to give Judith a cuddle and then pack their bags into the trunk of the sedan and they were already heading out. They'd never really sprouted roots, but all the same, after a week of being in the same place, they had spread out a little further than expected. She could see the scars they'd left in the dirt from out the back of the military jeep as they rolled away.

The motel brought them closer to Terminus. Close enough that she heard Rick and Carol discuss sending out a couple of people every day to scope the place out and make sure nothing had changed. She wondered how much longer it would be until they would carry out their plans of stripping Terminus' corpse and taking off for DC. She wasn't the only one, separately she heard Sasha, Carl and Maggie all asked Rick quietly and (they thought) privately when they might be done playing camping trip. He gave everyone the same vague 'a few days' response.

She had been worried that the motel would be a more obvious place for them to stay than their camp in the woods; that they would be more likely to come across other survivor groups or the herds of the undead. She breathed a sigh of relief when their cars turned onto an overgrown, narrow road veering off into the woods. The motel was out of sight from the main road and under plenty of protective cover. If they broke into the office to get the keys, they would even have locked doors.

In the parking lot they butchered and served the pig, rabbit and squirrel, spent some time around the smoldering coals, enjoying the feel of being feed. It seemed like the kind of night when everyone might stay gathered around for a while, maybe listening to Abraham's war stories or getting into it about things they missed from the old world. Instead, everyone took to choosing their rooms right away.

With Carl's help, she put together a makeshift cradle for Judith out of a basket they took from the laundry room. They set it up in the room on the far end of the motel, where Rick would be staying with his kids. When she came back outside it was to watch the others picking out their rooms.

A wave of nostalgia hit her. She remembered when they'd first come into the prison and everyone had picked a cell. She hadn't felt compelled to unpack her bag right away, too nervous that they wouldn't be there for long. Now, she knew they wouldn't be staying more than 'a few days' as Rick kept saying.

She twisted the shoulder straps of her backpack in her hands, checking to see what rooms were still open and where the keys had gone off to. She couldn't keep track of who had them, but it seemed like most people were turning in, though the sun was just beginning to reach the horizon.

"Hey, Beth."

She felt Daryl's hand on her shoulder. The keys to one of the rooms dangled off his thumb. "You stayin' with me?" the question in his eyes was clear, the uncertainty. No matter how many times she'd tried to reassure him, he seemed to always expect rejection.

"Yes," she checked the number on the keys with her fingers. Then took a hold of his hand and led him into their room. Daryl locked the door behind them.

* * *

**Skinny Love – Bon Iver**


	27. Awake

After prison bunk-beds, coffins, trunks and the cold, hard ground, sleeping in the little motel bed should have been something to look forward to. Instead, Beth felt a keen and somewhat unexplainable aversion to it. Something about the placement in the room. Daryl must have felt the same way, because he immediately stripped the mattress off the frame and laid it out on the ground in the far corner for them instead. It was a better point of cover.

"You sure 'bout this?" he glanced down at the mattress and then at her, sheepish and restless in the same instance, his hands unsure what to do or where to go.

In lieu of saying anything more on the subject, Beth pulled her shirt off, and he fell onto her, helping her lie down as she struggled to undress him, finally giving up as her hands were shaking too badly.

When he unzipped her jeans, she almost lost her nerve. Seemingly oblivious to the tremor that ran over her flesh, he pressed his lips into her stomach, slowly following a pathway down the inside of her hipbone. It effectively stole the last of her fear, to feel him being so gentle and yet so eager.

In a hushed tone he warned that this wasn't going to last long, saying it more to himself than to her, she thought.

All the same, to her they might have been enfolded together for an eternity, before they finally came up for air. He stroked and soothed every inch of her with his lips, tongue and hands until she was delirious and imploring with him to come inside her.

As he finished he collapsed on top of her, kissing her repeatedly. Their heavy breathing was in sync, both of them shaking and sweating. She wrapped her arms around his neck and wouldn't let him move for several minutes, her fingers stroking their way up the back of his neck and massaging his scalp.

"Beth Greene," he breathed into her ear.

"Hum?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too," she smiled into his cheek.

He rolled off, lying next to her. The fingers of one hand traced their way down her curves to rest on her inner thigh, kneading her skin. "You hurtin'?"

"Yeah," she admitted in a breathy voice. Would this elation ever wear off? "But I want to do it again."

He let out a bark, half laughter, "You gotta give me a minute."

Without realizing it, they'd both been turning inward until they were facing one another. She wanted to remember his face like this forever; bright blue eyes full of light and gazing at her like she was all that had ever mattered. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, but she couldn't put the words together. So instead she just stared at him, deciding that there was nothing she could say to adequately express what she was feeling anyway.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured.

A grin took over and she had to hide her blushing face in his neck. She giggled as he nibbled and sucked on her earlobe.

"Was I kinda loud?" her words were muffled by her mouth pressing into his shoulder.

"Maybe a bit."

Though somber and quiet, dusk still seemed vibrant to Beth. She wasn't sure how she'd ever get to sleep.

"Shiverin'?" Daryl reached across her to snatch a blanket and pull it across them.

"Yeah, but I'm not cold," she caught his arm in her bandaged hand, "While there's still a little light." Resting her head on his chest, she watched the colors of the sunset bleed through the curtains and resting against their bare skin, making them glow.

The dark hours were spent entwined, whether awake or dreaming it became difficult for Beth to discern. This had to be the happiest week she'd ever lived, made all the sweeter by just how tragic it could have been. Darker thoughts of what might have been flickered across her mind whenever her hand ran over Daryl's still-wrapped thigh, or whenever her own bandaged hand throbbed from friction. They should be dead, so many times over. Their people had to be feeling the same way. It was unreal, the luck they'd had.

She tried not to follow that thought to any kind of logical conclusion. It was more important to live and love. Now that Daryl seemed to understand that as well, they were free to be wrapped up in their own world, all over again. She appreciated what he'd done; taking his time with her, making sure her first experience was in no way an act of sad desperation on either side. He made her feel truly loved, adored and wanted.

At the same time, she'd known she'd wanted to be with him since they'd been torn apart. The instant that fear first crept into her heart and a quiet, vicious voice told her that she wouldn't be found, she'd known that she had to defy it. She had to find him and be with him just like this.

"You'd better find me," she said quietly into the open air.

It was morning, how far into the day, she wasn't sure. The light coming through the slivers and curtains at the edges of the room was soft white rather than blue. She wasn't sure precisely when she'd woken up—or if she'd ever really fallen asleep in the first place. She didn't feel tired, exactly; her body ached and her eyes drooped, but her mind was still whirling.

Beside her, Daryl stirred. "What'd you say?" He lifted his head from off the mattress. His hair was a disaster. She had mussed it up in fist-fuls, so that it now stuck out at comic angles. He blinked awake and rubbed at his lips and the corners of his eyes.

She reached up and tried to push his hair off his face. "If this is all just a dream, and I'm unconscious in that car, driving away from the funeral home… you'd better find me."

For a moment, he just stared at her, expression unreadable, still on the edge of sleep. "S'll real," he groaned as he rose up. At a crawl he came behind her. She started to sit up, just in time for him to catch both her arms and pulled her back into his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, squeezing her tight around the waist for a few heartbeats before he gradually began to let his hands slid down, gingerly brushing over her hips and thighs, teasing her.

"It feels real. I want it to be real. That's why I got scared that it might not be. Dreams always feel so real when I'm inside them. But everything's so… perfect. We found our people. Judith is alive. You're holdin' onto me." It was too much how she wanted it to be. Ominous thoughts slithered through her bliss, telling her dark lies and half-truths. The common theme was easy enough to pick out. _Something bad has to happen soon._

She shook it off. This life was real. They'd had their share of tough times and they knew how to deal with them. Besides, maybe things could even get better.

"I'll come for you," said Daryl in barely more than a whisper. "If I ever wake up on the floor of that train-car… I'll find you."

A knock on the door came too soon. Silently, they both scrambled to put clothes on. Daryl made it to the door first, shoes untied and his crossbow at the ready. He checked the window, then opened the door so quickly that Beth barely had time to dive behind the bed in order to pour herself back into her jeans.

"Ready to go?" It was Rick, stepped back just far enough that she could only see one hand on the gun at his hip.

"Yeah, sorry, slept in," grumbled Daryl.

"I think we all did—it's a little easier without the dawn glarin' you right in the face."

Daryl tied up his boots, tossed the room-keys to Beth. She rose up from behind the bed and walked to meet him, trying hard and failing not to look at Rick.

Sure that her face was cherry red, she finally had to give in and look at him, biting down hard on her lip.

If Rick felt any embarrassment at all, or like he'd found them in a compromising situation, he didn't show it. He stepped back a pace, pointedly looking towards the parking lot with his hand on his gun, giving them a few seconds of privacy.

Daryl met her part-way across the room to kiss her hard on the mouth.

Neither of them were the kind of people who said goodbye.

* * *

**Touch - Daughter**


	28. Apocalypse-Wedding

They swung past Terminus, on their way to today's spot. Just close enough to get a look at the ambling corpses that still hung in the dead air between their walls. The Mother House was still closed up tight.

Sophie and the other mothers and babies should have six more days of supplies, but still, it made Carol's heart race. If Rick waited much longer, she was just going to take a car and head in there alone… except she knew that this might be exactly the worst thing she could do, for herself and for Sophie.

It was just a bad situation. There was no _good_ _way _to handle it well. There was only _the way_ to handle it.

As the jeep rolled far away from Terminus again, Carol watched Daryl talking with Abraham and Bob out of the corner of her eye.

"Might have overdone it yesterday," Daryl admitted, rubbing at his leg. "The hike in the woods, I mean," he added quickly.

"The muscle is weak, you've got to take it easy," said Bob.

"Sorry I been blowin' you off, I ain't no good at bein' a patient," he added in a grumble.

Bob held his hands out, it was already forgotten.

"Friend of mine got shot in exactly the same place and like you, he would _not_ take it easy to save his damn life," said Abraham boisterously, "bastard crippled himself and you'll do the same thing, mark my words."

"Better me crippled that you _dead_," Daryl spoke with a hint of dark humor that made Bob smile as much as it made Abraham frown.

"I would've seen that walker, you didn't need to—"

"Just say thanks to the man for savin' your life and drop it," Bob suggested with a chuckle.

"He didn't save my life, he interfered with my kill!" said Abraham, but all three of them were chuckling now.

Since reuniting, they'd spent almost every day in one another's company, but Carol hadn't felt this distant from Daryl ever before. It frustrated her, because she thought she'd come to terms with his 'attachment' as he'd deemed it. She wanted to be happy that he was happy, and that he'd opened himself up to someone else. She knew that it was what he should do, what would be good for him.

She shouldn't _want _him to stay an anti-social basket-case. But over the last week, as they exchanged only monosyllables and stayed focused on caring for the group as a whole, she'd realized that he wasn't the problem.

It wasn't that Daryl wasn't speaking to her. She wasn't speaking to Daryl.

Maybe the push had always come from her side. Maybe some part of her didn't want to share him with anyone else. She knew it was selfish, but she wanted to stay the only person who he could really joke with, talk to, relate to, be with…

She'd busted through his shell a little when Sophia died. She'd seen how broken he was and she tried to do what she could to heal him, but he'd only opened a crack, and only with her. What was remarkable now was how he was more open with everyone. She'd seen other people try and be his friend. It usually only accounted for a couple of awkward conversations in which whoever wasn't named Daryl did all the talking.

Beth wasn't just breaking through his armor, she was taking it off.

He could still be ornery and reserved, but moments like this one were becoming more common. It had happened gradually, and then all at once. He was reaching out to people. He and Rick had shared a bond since pretty early on—one that she admittedly hadn't always approved of—they were closer now than she'd ever seen before. It was a subtle change, but she'd picked up on it, in the silences between their exchanges where they still seemed to understand one another perfectly, not to mention the way that Rick always looked to Daryl before he made a decision about anything. They were more like family than friends. She could see Rick's kids growing up to call him 'uncle'.

_It doesn't even bother me that he's with Beth, but it kills me that he's coming out of the shadows when I'm retreating into them._

Up ahead, the road opened enough that they could see the last half-mile leading into a small way-station. Cars were scattered along the side of the road and so Rick slowed down so that they could search them as they approached their mark for the day.

From the woods a crack alerted them.

Daryl was the first one to recognize that the shape in the tree-line wasn't a walker. "Anyone feel like venison? I'll catch up." He climbed out of the jeep, and at the same instance the deer bolted into the dark wood.

"Don't go alone—Carol, would you follow him?" Rick nodded towards where Daryl's angel-wings were disappearing into the cover.

With only a nod to their leader she followed after Daryl, catching up to him just a few feet into the trees. The deer was disappearing far ahead of them. "We gotta stay back a bit, so he thinks we ain't coming."

They followed the fresh tracks at a subdued pace, not speaking for several minutes.

"You and Rick okay?" Daryl finally asked.

"What do you mean?" but she sighed inwardly. No one had said anything to her about it yet, but she was sure that someone must have heard them arguing the other night.

Sure enough, Daryl spared her a glance in order to roll his eyes at her.

In spite of herself, she fought a smirk.

"The two of you walk off together and within two minutes I hear raised voices, echoin' through the woods. You think I _didn't_ come runnin'? I cleared off as soon as I saw that you weren't bein' attacked, but even if I hadn't heard a bit of it… it's clear 'nough that things ain't right between you."

So, someone had heard them. She was glad, at least, that it was Daryl, out of all of them, he was the least likely the judge. She could trust him to see both sides of the argument, but she was beginning to lose hope that he'd take her side. She wondered how much of it he'd heard. "I do what he asks," said Carol evenly. "That's all he wants anyway."

"Slander, right there," grumbled Daryl, "He cares 'bout you. Cares about all of us."

"Me, least of all," Carol grimaced, "I'm dangerous, did you hear that part? I can't be trusted. I make calls that aren't mine to make. Kill innocent people. He doesn't want me around his children."

"He said all that?"

Truthfully no, he'd started off by telling her that Tyreese had told him everything that happened on the road and that he was sorry about Mika, Lizzie and Sophie. He'd said he wanted to forget everything and move on. He actually apologized for some of the stuff he'd said when he banished her. Not all of it, but he took back what he'd said about Judith and Carl not being safe around her. He said he knew that she would do anything to protect them, and thanked her again for caring for Judith. He'd also said that if Tyreese could forgive her, than Rick would just have to find a way to do it too.

It was the implication that she might want Rick's forgiveness that had burned her up. She hadn't done anything wrong and he'd abandoned her. Her chilly response of, '_Well, I'll let you know when I'm ready to forgive you,'_ hadn't hit Rick very well.

"Even if he didn't say it. It's pretty clear what he thinks of me."

"So, change his mind," Daryl shrugged, "I get that you'll do anythin' to protect us. Rick gets that too."

"You know what he did to me, Daryl? He left me out there _alone_. What kind of chance do you really think I had all on my own in this mess? What chance would anyone have? He didn't care if I died."

"That wouldn't've happened," said Daryl stubbornly, "If the Governor hadn't come when he did—I would've gone after you. I think Rick knows it too. I'd have brought you back, same way I did Merle. Locked you two in a room together 'til you could get along."

The comparison to Merle hit her like a punch to the gut, but she tried not to let it show. "How would you have found me?"

Daryl didn't answer, but paused, inspecting the ground a moment. He changed their course, glancing curiously in the other direction for a moment. Perhaps looking for whatever might have caused the deer to abruptly alter its path.

Maybe he would have found her. It was strange enough that they'd all managed to find one another. Still, she had a hard time picturing what might have happened, when what _did_ happen was so loud and vivid red in her recent memory. She'd come back to the prison, torn between begging them to let her back, confessing to Tyreese personally and letting the chips fall, or perhaps simply to try and get Daryl to leave with her. Her plans had been fuzzy at the time and had been pulverized to less-than-memory after everything that followed.

If she was really supposed to be the outcast, still, and if they were less than they'd been before, she might as well confront him now. She might not get another opportunity. "Daryl, what happened… you and Beth?" she hated the way her tongue got caught behind her teeth, tripping over the question. It brought back echoes of the timid person she'd once been.

He stopped tracking and rotated around to face her, eyes carefully searching. "Can't really explain it," he admitted. "She. Happened."

Nodding, Carol tried to understand. "Was I imagining _this_?" She stepped into him, gesturing to the air between them.

He didn't recoil, didn't move at all, but regarded her steadily. Finally, he shook his head. No, it wasn't delusion. At least she had that much from him. "You didn't imagine nothin' Carol. If you wanted me, I was there. You didn't."

"Don't you think I'd know that for myself?" she laughed shortly.

"You didn't," he shook his head again, "Used to irk me when you teased, 'cause I knew you'd have done something 'bout it, if you felt like that."

She rolled her eyes at that, but it was more to dispel the last of the moisture that had been building up there. She knew that he was at least partially right. In the time that they'd been friends she'd considered, once or twice, making a legitimate go at him, but something always held her back.

Weariness.

She was so tired.

He took a slow step towards her, keeping his voice low, though there was no one to spy on them, "You're the most fearless person I know—and I know some real tough sons of bitches, lemme tell you."

There was an earnestness in his eyes that caught her off guard, but it shouldn't have, and she realized that almost immediately. Daryl didn't speak lightly, you could count on getting the truth from him.

"You, me, Beth too—we'd have all been just fine. We got purpose, we got people, we still got our own _hands_ when it comes down to it," he held up his own, and she laughed in spite of herself at the implication. "You, more'n any of us. You don't need to find some apocalypse-husband. You got this."

"Sometimes, I worry that Ed… and losing Sophia broke me in ways I don't even understand. What if I just can't do it anymore?" _What if there's no love left?_

"Bullshit. I said you don't _need_ no man. You _can_ do whatever you want."

* * *

**Reunion - The xx**


	29. Mama Practice

It took until about noon for Beth to really feel how beat her body really was.

_Daryl Dixon, what did you do to me?_ She tried to stretch every which way to loosen herself up and it seemed to help some with the soreness, but there was nothing she could do for the tiredness.

By early afternoon, she was passed-out asleep beside Judith, on the floor of Rick's motel room. When she awoke, Maggie was sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning at her with wide green eyes. _'Sleepy?'_ she mouthed.

Beth moaned and rolled over to look at the baby, still wrapped up in her nap. "Sorry, I'm up now, I swear," she yawned. "They back yet?" she glanced out the window, but saw from the light that it was way too early in the day. She was trying to keep her voice down, but Judith began to whine as her eyes opened.

"Nope," Maggie scooped Judith up off the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed, she set the baby next to her, wrapping one arm around her to keep her from tipping over.

Cracking her back, Beth sat up straight with another low groan. "How're you holding up?"

"I feel ready-to-go," Maggie shrugged, "but this morning Bob told Rick to give me at least three more days. I figure that's how long we got 'till we move forward with the plan."

"You almost died," Beth pointed out, shuddering to think of it.

"We all did," Maggie raised and lowered one shoulder, keeping her eyes down on Judith's fluffy head. "Listen, I gotta tell someone, but it can't be Glenn. Can you promise not to get me benched?"

Without hearing her sister say another word, Beth discerned her secret with a single look into her intense, pale eyes. Her own got wide, "You're pregnant."

"I might be," Maggie corrected her. "Don't know for sure… I'd never keep this from Glenn, usually. But with us planning to go back into Terminus—I can't risk him getting all protective and telling Rick."

"But he's _right_. Maggie, if you might be havin' a baby you shouldn't go in there—you can protect Judith and I'll go in your place—"

"That's never gonna happen, Beth," Maggie shook her head, "You're not a soldier. It could be nothin', maybe we walk in, clean the place out and leave, but it could be bad. I'm not letting you go in there."

"But Maggie—"

"If I hang back and something happens to Glenn," her voice started to break but she swallowed hard. "No. We need everyone, lookin' out for one another. You gotta stay with the baby, keep her out of danger. Keep yourself out, while you're at it. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you."

"That's how I always feel, you know," said Beth, gaze unshaken on her sister's stubborn expression. "Whenever you, or Glenn, or Carl or Daryl go out there and I'm left behind to… hope. How do you think I'll feel if somethin' happens to you afterI _didn't_ get you benched?"

"Glenn and I will protect each other. You protect her." She kissed Judith on the top of her head, face splitting into a smile. "I know that it's not the best of timing but… I really want to have a child."

"I get that," absentmindedly Beth began to draw her finger over the carpet next to her.

"You and Daryl bein' careful?" Maggie let Judith have both her index fingers in her tiny fists.

Nervously, Beth laughed, "I must be kinda dumb—I honestly hadn't even thought about it," she shrugged, "But I dunno, I feel like I don't need to worry. If it happens, then it happens."

"That _is_ dumb," Maggie shook her head, laughing. "Or maybe you just skipped all the worryin' and went straight to accepting that life has to go on. Took a while for me and Glenn to get there. Still not sure we're there, to be honest."

She needed to talk to Daryl. "That's the nice thing about havin' an older sister. I can learn from your experience and skip whatever doesn't look like fun," Beth batted her eyes.

"You're welcome."

"I always wanted kids," Beth reached back into her memory, finding the girl who she used to see in the mirror every day, before the turn. "…I didn't think it'd happen, 'cause I'd figure I'djust_ die_. Then, after I decided I was gonna survive, I still couldn't imagine it. Watchin' what Lori and Rick went through with Judith…"

Maggie grimaced, hand absent-mindedly moving to her stomach.

"Sorry. I shouldn't bring that up," Beth cringed. "I sorta gave up for a while. I couldn't imagine a baby in this world. I _hated_ Lori and Rick for being so careless. How would they protect their baby? How could a child ever grow up and be happy? For a second there, I was determined to die a virgin." She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Except… after Judith was born—you remember how Daryl was?" she grinned, recalling when he'd scooped the baby up to make sure she ate her first meal. He'd held her so gently, spoken so sweetly to her.

"Is that when you decided you liked him?" Maggie copied her smile.

"That's when I knew it wasn't a just stupid crush. But I was still nervous… 'cause he's older than me, so I tried to forget about it… That was the moment when I realized that I could have children and they would be alright. People could keep being people. Living. There was hope for babies too."

Maggie nodded, lips tight, eyes glistening but she fought the tears back and after a moment she smiled and said, "Well, Judith's gonna need some friends anyway."

A rumble from the parking lot brought both of them to their feet in unison. It sounded like the engine of their own military jeep, returned a little early, but all the same they knew better than to take anything for granted these days. Automatically, Maggie handed Judith to Beth and put her hand over her gun, checking out the window. "It's them," she relaxed. "I wonder why they're back so early."

Out in the parking lot, they found Eugene lecturing Tara on the best way to prepare venison. Abraham and Carol were unloading a kill from the back of the jeep.

Carl took Judith, just in time for Beth to see where Daryl had disappeared to. She approached him shyly at first. He'd kissed her when Rick was watching that morning and her first instinct on seeing him home safe was to throw her arms around him, and go in for a smooch, but she wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with that when everyone was watching.

To her delight, he approached her, spreading his arms at the last second to invite her into his chest. She even heard herself let out the tiniest squeal as she grabbed his waist. He'd still had his crossbow in hand. The weight of it rested against her back. His heart was quick, like he'd been running, and she realized that her own heart was in sync with his again.

He tipped her chin back, kissing her softly on the lips. She wondered if he felt everyone staring for a half-second, then decided she didn't care if they were. He stroked his mouth against hers slowly and she felt a fluttering deep in the pit of her stomach.

Nearby, Maggie greeted Glenn, "Why are you guys back so soon?"

"Nothing went wrong," said Glenn quickly, "We just found plenty for one day and we thought that a little rest might be just as valuable as a few more cans of Spam, at this point."

"Don't be knockin' Spam," she heard Carl say.

In response, Glenn made a face.

Beth finally pulled away from Daryl, but kept her hand on his arm as she turned to ask Glenn, "What's plenty?"

"Fuel. For this beast," Glenn smacked the side of the jeep. "We found two cars with full tanks."

"Some kinda trap," Daryl mused, "Spikes in the road took out the tires, so survivors had to try and find help on foot. Didn't make it back. Whoever set up the trap never came to claim."

Beth shuddered to imagine why someone would set up a trap like that, but she knew the answer, they were still near Terminus. She'd be willing to bet that before they'd polished their operation they might have tried a few different methods to catch people and bring them into their web.

"And you found a deer?" two days in a row with a proper meal, Beth was beginning to feel spoiled.

"She found us, more like," Daryl grumbled, "No favor for her." He fell silent when he saw Rick approaching them.

Rick nodded in acknowledgement before he said, "Beth, Daryl—can I have a word?" and motioned for them to step aside.

In spite of his unconcerned demeanor that morning, she worried for a few seconds that he might not approve of them. She couldn't imagine there was much he could do about it—besides that his influence over Daryl was considerable. Suddenly a little nervous, Beth laced her fingers through Daryl's. In less than a half-dozen quick heart-beats, she felt foolish as Rick proved to be thinking in an entirely different direction.

Even as he spoke to them, Rick seemed preoccupied as usual. He tried to look them in the eyes, but she could tell that he was always searching the landscape with whatever other senses he could spare. "This is the second day in a row that we've managed to get some decent food. We'll be alright tomorrow too, but I've been thinkin'…" he gestured to the woods, "Would you offer any objections to switching from runner to hunter for the rest of our stay? If your leg can take it, I mean."

"Leg's fine," Daryl nodded.

"Me too?" Beth asked hopefully.

"Couldn't let him go out there alone—besides, it's a valuable skill you're developing," Rick shrugged.

"Only problem is, these woods are spare. A herd plowed right through here, not long ago. We might have to travel a day out, or more."

Rick nodded, understanding, "Just make it one night away, if you can. That'll give you a day to rest up before we take Terminus."

Twenty minutes later, Beth was still basking in relief. She wasn't sure why she had worried in the first place. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Rick was never going to assert that it would be any of his business what she and Daryl did. At the same time, she couldn't help but feel like asking the two of them to go off into the woods overnight together to look for food, was his own very Rick-ish way of showing approval. He wouldn't have encouraged them to be alone together, if he had any reservations about their relationship.

There was some work to do, but for once it didn't seem like there was enough to keep everyone occupied at once. They'd finally hit of a point of diminishing returns on their chores and as a result, everyone was either relaxing or doing their work at a more leisurely pace, with the exception of Tara and Eugene who were preparing dinner and next-day jerky for the whole group.

Daryl and Beth, with Judith in her lap again, found a shady spot beside the motel office. It was a good vantage point to spy on what everyone else was up to.

Near enough to the chefs that they shared conversation, Bob and Abraham were teaching Carl to play Texas Hold 'Em with a deck of worn playing cars that someone had found next to a copy of the Holy Bible in one of the motel rooms.

Michonne, Carol and Rick were arranging the gasoline they'd siphoned in the back of the truck.

Glenn was helping Rosita and Maggie with laundry, or he was distracting them, it was hard to tell.

Tyreese and Sasha were having what looked like an intense conversation in the tree-line on the edge of the motel property.

A cool breeze blew Beth's ponytail into her face, she shook it back and shivered. It was cooling off fast, but she couldn't believe that it was so late in the year already. "You remember when you first came to the farm, and Rick had Glenn go on that run with Maggie? Do you think he did it on purpose?"

"What do you mean?" but from the red tinge in Daryl's cheeks, she was pretty sure that he had some notion what she meant. All the same, he wouldn't meet her eyes. The side of his mouth twitched as he straightened the feather on the end of one of his bolts, looking at it intently.

"You know," she cocked her head at him and waited for his blue eyes to flicker to her face before she grinned.

"I dunno," he bounced the end of the bolt off his lips, then turned and flicked it towards Beth's face.

Instead of flinching away, she puckered, felt the feather connect lightly with her own lips and laughed. "I think he did."

"To like, set 'em up, or whatever?" Daryl mumbled, barely willing to admit that he did understand what she was implying.

"Yeah—or, I dunno, maybe it wasn't like he was assigning them to be apocalypse-married or anything like that, but I think… right when he and my dad met, Rick wanted us to be one group. I think he was trying to get us to all mix. Make friends."

"Hmm," Daryl was still eyeing the bolt in his hand. "Here, trade me," he set the bolt on top of his crossbow and pushed it towards her, gesturing for her to give him the baby.

"What am I gonna do with this?" Beth looked around for something that could serve as a target. They hadn't done practice shooting in a while, but her aim was pretty decent already.

Daryl set the baby on top of his good thigh, wrapping one arm across her little torso. "Load it."

"But you always load it," Beth looked at the crossbow doubtfully. She'd definitely noticed the way Daryl's arms bulged when he loaded the weapon. She doubted she would be able to do it, and she'd assumed that he knew as much. Without even discussing it, he'd always taken it upon himself to load the bolt and then hand it back to her to shoot.

"You gotta learn," he gestured towards the crossbow again.

Tentatively, she put the bolt into place.

"Make sure you got it pointed at the ground, or at least well away from anythin' you don't want dead. Just like a gun."

She started trying to pull back on the string, the more taut it went, the more her arms stiffened. "Oh man," she gasped. "You're _strong_." After a few more seconds of struggling she gave up. Her fingers were white where she'd gripped it, but the color rushed back into them in a burst of pink.

"Give it another go, in a few."

"I'm pretty sure I just don't have the muscle," Beth winced, ashamed to admit it.

"Yeah, I figured," Daryl hefted Judith up above his head, "but it's not something you just _have_. You gotta work at it." Slowly, he lowered the baby onto his shoulders, so her little legs were dangling on either side of his head. She squealed, grabbing a handful of his hair. "Even if you got the muscles, they don't know how to do it yet. Teach 'em."

By the time dinner was served, Beth's arms were sore, and she still hadn't managed to load the bolt. Still, Daryl seemed pleased to watch her keep at it, so she was determined to build up the necessary strength… but it might take a while.

She was still eating, while Daryl massaged one of her aching shoulders with one hand. He'd inhaled his meal in minutes, but stuck around as everyone else was eating and talking. Beth wondered if maybe she should ask Michonne to work with her on starting a daily strength training regimen.

All evening, at the back of her mind, her conversation with Maggie lingered on. She knew now that her main fear about having children had been her own inability to keep them safe. Even with Daryl as their father, she couldn't guarantee that something wouldn't happen to them, or to her. The world was too dangerous, there was no such thing as being too prepared anymore. She wanted children and she wanted nieces and nephews too. She ought to be able to protect any little ones, and teach them how to protect themselves when they were old enough. That was just the way things were now.

_We all got jobs to do._ _I am a hunter and a caretaker and a fighter. I need to be a mother, and I need to be a killer._

That night, when she was wrapped up in Daryl's arms again, thinking about a million things at once, she accidentally gave herself away. "I was talkin' with Maggie," she lay on her stomach, on top of his chest, while he stroked his fingers through her hair. "And, I realized… I should probably ask you—make sure you're okay with the idea of us havin' kids."

Daryl's fingers stiffened against her scalp. "Maggie's pregnant?"

_Dammit._ "Yeah, maybe."

"Shit. Glenn don't know."

"How'd you guess that?" she lifted her head, her chin jutting into the exact center of his chest, her heart dropped a little when she saw his face. He was ghost-pale.

"'Cause he'd be an unholy mess if he did," Daryl swallowed, looking up at the ceiling.

"…What about you?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking, and chewing on his tongue. "I don't know. Maybe I'd die on the spot, but I always liked kids. You just gotta keep me from bein' a crappy dad, alright? Some of it I can handle, but other things… damn, Greene, you gotta help me out."

"So, you won't be mad? If I get pregnant?"

"Mad? Hell no. Pissin' my pants terrified… probably."

Pecking him lightly on the lips, she acknowledged inwardly that she already knew him well enough to know that would be his reaction. Maybe she'd just needed to hear him say it out-loud. "You'd be a great dad."

"You want babies?"

"Yeah."

"You can have all the babies you want."

* * *

**House on a Hill – Pretty Reckless**


	30. Honeymoon

Being alone together so much was wonderful, but also highly problematic. The first day, as they headed out before dawn, they agreed that they wouldn't fool around until after they caught something. If they weren't able to find game, they would just have to wait. Rick and everyone else counted on them to be responsible and put the group's collective need for continued survival above their own personal appetites. It was a practical, sensible rule.

Within an hour they'd broken it twice.

Beth searched the ground for her hair-tie, holding her hair up in both hands, while Daryl buttoned his trousers.

"Okay, we gonna be good now, right?" Beth breathing was still coming in ragged draws. She couldn't stop smiling, though she was trying to be serious. They needed to focus on their hike and cover as much ground as possible; get to fatter woods.

"Yeah. You gotta stop," grumbled Daryl, he held up her elastic band so she could see, then flicked it at her.

The elastic hit her stomach and flopped onto the ground at her feet. "Me? _You_ started it." "I pulled a spider outta your hair," said Daryl dryly, but he was grinning.

"You touched me."

"Yeah, alright. I take responsibility for that one."

They were going much deeper into the wilderness than they had before, and moving at a much quicker pace to start out. They weren't looking for signs of life just yet, and Beth could see why. She had just shrugged it off the day before when Daryl told Rick that a herd had gone through these woods recently, but now that she was traveling through them, she could see what he was talking about. The ground was all beaten by halting foot-traffic, the soft and stiffening earth was packed; smaller greens crushed underfoot. No wonder the animals had fled. Walkers ate them when they couldn't find human flesh. It was too late in the year for much recovery to take place. There hadn't been enough rain or sunlight for them under the cover of the trees and surrounded by autumn chills.

They'd packed light, but all the same, after a few miles the weight seemed to increase. All the same, they didn't take their first proper break until the sun was high in the sky. "No more signs of walkers," Beth noticed hopefully, "You think we can start trackin' now?"

Daryl nodded, ripping into a piece of jerky. He used his teeth to divide in in half and gave her the bigger portion.

"Haven't seen anythin' so far," he admitted, "but we can't afford to head out much further."

"How far from camp to you think we are?"

He shrugged, "Five miles, maybe."

"Only five?" she thought they would have walked further than that, but then again, the last hour had all been up-hill.

For a moment they relaxed inside the life of the forest. Before the world ended, Beth had sometimes hiked through the woods right around her father's farm. She liked to be in the silence from time to time, but now it seemed even quieter than she'd ever remembered. Maybe it was just the knowledge that the rest of the world was quiet too. That there was no noise to return to. She didn't miss it, per say. She hadn't really spent enough time away from her more rural home to really appreciate cities, but it did make her sad to know that it wasn't even out there anymore; the same way that it made her sad thinking about all the burned-out, derelict places that had been abandoned, just like her own home.

The hiss of a bolt being released from Daryl's crossbow made her jump. She looked up to see a squirrel pinned to a tree at the edge of the clearing where they rested. She'd been so wrapped up in her daydreams, she hadn't even noticed when the little guy appeared.

Holding the rest of his jerky in his bared teeth, Daryl drew his dagger and stood up, handing Beth his emptied crossbow and another bolt, then went to retrieve his kill.

She started trying again to load it. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she made it a little further. Even though her arms were still sore form the day before, it somehow made them feel better to try again. She was starting to feel the way it was a movement that required her whole body to work at it. The night before, Daryl had told her that it was the same as if she deadlifted a hundred and fifty pounds.

Of course, Beth had never tried a proper deadlift before. Both Daryl and Michonne assured her it wasn't impossible, just tough, for a small woman like herself.

Fastening the squirrel onto his belt he stood a few feet off, watching her try and load the weapon.

When she'd finally had enough of the struggle, she looked up at him and sighed.

"Keep at it," he suggested, with a nod, "I bet you'll even be able to do it one-handed, 'fore you know it."

"I've never seen _you_ do that," she challenged him with a frown.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she could see the shadow of a smirk that his face wanted to wear. He stepped forward and took it from her, spreading his fingers out awkwardly to grip the string as evenly on both sides as he could manage. With significantly more strain that usually, he pulled back and hooked it in place. "Now you have." He gestured to the crossbow as his feet bumped it towards her.

She caught it as it fell into her, "Yeah. There's no way I can ever do that," she rolled her eyes, uncurled her legs from the ground and stood up.

In a half-mile, they had tracks.

"Are these fresh?" Beth recognized the hoof-prints as belonging to a deer.

"You tell me."

"They are, aren't they? We're tracking a deer! It was here, not long ago…" Having another meal of venison and some jerky for later might be exactly the boost that their group needed right before they took Terminus and began their long journey to DC. They were all so tired and run-down. The extra energy might mean the difference between life and death.

"Yeah, that's how it appears. She's bookin' it though. Something might have spooked her. Might have even been us. Or walkers. Keep a sharp eye."

"Should we hurry to try and catch her?" Beth was ready for a chase, but Daryl was walking at a gradual pace.

"We don't gotta be faster than 'em—that'll never happen," he explained, "Our prey's always gonna have the advantage of speed. We march. We don't outrun 'em, we _track_. We just gotta listen and look and see where they're at. Soon enough, they feel safe, get tired and stop running, but we're still comin'. Like Terminator."

"I never saw it," Beth admitted, she'd long since stopped feeling bad about things like that. Early on it used to bother her that she'd never gotten around to seeing some film, or that she hadn't made it back to Disneyland, or other things that would stay forever buried in the world before the turn. "Was it good?"

He didn't answer, but slowed down to a dead stop, raising one hand out towards her in warning.

She could hear it too now; rustling and growling. Carefully, Daryl walked on quiet feet careful not to disturbed the underbrush too noisily as he slithered his way around a pair of trees and looked into a clearing.

_'Walker?'_ Beth mouthed once she caught his eye.

With his gazing twisting around the trunk of the tree, she was surprised that he could see much. He nodded and gestured for her to come, circling the trunk. In a small clearing off to the side of their trail, the walker was dragging itself with twisted hands. Most of its fingers had broken off, probably from the exertion. Its legs were both cut off just above the knee. In life, it had been a teenaged boy, maybe only fourteen years old. Undeath had reduced it to a sunken, boney-grey thing. When it saw them it began to rasp, teeth snapping.

Beth hadn't killed a walker with the crossbow yet. The closest she'd gotten was the time when that bear-trap had closed on her ankle. With her focus compromised, she hadn't managed to get it in the head. This time, she aimed and fired the bolt while letting her air out in a steady exhale, just the way that Daryl had shown her. She hit it right between the eyes, as it lifted its head from the dirt to snarl at her.

"Do you think he's what scared the deer?" she retrieved the bolt from the corpse, suddenly wondering if Daryl tried to use separate bolts from killing walkers than he did killing food. He probably cleaned them at least.

He plucked the bolt from her hand and gave her a new one to try and load herself, answer the question as she failed to do so.

"He came from the other direction," he motioned to the drag marks indicating that the corpse had been going downhill. "Still gotta keep our eyes open."

It occurred to her that she probably ought to feel frightened at little things like rustling in the forest or spending the night out in the woods alone when the walking dead lurked in the shadows, but she didn't. On her own, she probably wouldn't last long, but with Daryl it was the completely opposite of emotions, she felt utterly safe. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

All the same, the initial excitement they'd both felt at being allowed to go off and hunt together, alone, gave place to a more somber sense of responsibility. They still had fun, still talked and joked here and there, but for the most part they tried to do exactly as they knew was called for; they stayed vigilant and engrossed in the hunt.

It some ways, it was similar to their first few days after the prison fell, except that she was happy, whereas before, she'd been emotionally battered by the death of her father, and the loss of her home, not to mention her uncertainty about everyone else she loved.

Daryl was all she had and he wouldn't speak to her, except in cynical and guttural growls. She'd been miserable. Floating along like a ghost, but all the same, she had to admit that she never felt unsafe or out of sync with him. Looking back, it surprised her how little they needed to speak in order to still understand and work with one another so seamlessly. She followed his lead or he followed her lead, depending on who was feeling more up-to-it that day. They didn't speak, they just moved.

For the hours that they tracked the deer, it felt like that again, like they were acting together automatically, without even needing to think about it, they moved to accommodate and look out for one another.

When they finally came upon the deer, it was like Daryl had said. She seemed oblivious to their presence. Feeling more confident than last time, but still nervous, Beth took aim and stressed her finger against the trigger a moment, releasing her air with the bolt.

A split second before she had fired, the deer's ears had perked up. The deer shot off, at the exact moment that the bolt was loosed. It stopped harmlessly in the trunk of a tree behind where the doe had been standing.

The flurry of the underbrush only lasted a few seconds and then their prey was gone.

Burning red, Beth's shoulders slumped.

Daryl went to retrieve the bolt for her while she tried to figure out what she'd done wrong. "Did she hear us?" she frowned at Daryl as he returned, handing her the bolt. Without really thinking she started try and load the crossbow, gritting her teeth from the strain, "Was I being loud?" She took a deep breath and kept forcing the string back.

"Nah, I don't think she heard us," Daryl looked back where she'd disappeared into the ever thickening woods, "Sometimes, they just know—just figure out you're there in time, 'cause it's their lucky day or whatever."

"Should we keep tracking her?" Beth gasped as she finally brought the string up high enough. Her face broke into a huge grin that Daryl mirrored. "I'm cocked! I did it!" she covered her mouth again, realizing she'd practically shrieked, "_I did it_!" she said quieter as she set the crossbow on the ground and threw her arms around his neck.

He caught her when she was still mid-air and kept her feet aloft, taking a step backwards to steady himself. Here he was touching her again, though she had to admit that it had definitely been her idea this time. All the same, he was the one who'd somehow managed to get both hands under the back of her T-shirt so that she could feel his hands against her bare flesh. The heat between them bowled her over. She hadn't realized she could ever feel this way about someone. The tug in her belly was overwhelming.

In unison, they both pulled back, he was visibly deflated; his hands in fists as he turned back to the trail.

"We don't got time, do we?" she straightened her shirt and snatched the crossbow off the ground. Their prey was getting away.

"Nah," he groaned, "We gotta go."

* * *

**Flightless Bird American Mouth – Iron and Wine**


	31. Calm

The second time they came upon the deer, two walkers interrupted them.

Beth shoved her dagger into the nearest one's head, while Daryl took care of the other. His face was grim. He stomped into the walker's already collapsed head, for no other reason than frustration.

Sighing, Beth looked at the dead air where the deer had been standing in the perfect position. She could have made that shot, no problem, but the second she heard the walkers, the doe had escaped.

"Do we keep goin'?" she asked, looking up at the sky. It was twilight. So far, they'd only managed to kill a couple of squirrels and one rabbit along the trail.

"She's under someone's protection," grumbled Daryl, gesturing to the direction the doe had run, "And she keeps leading us further out. I don't think we should put any more distance between ourselves and our camp."

"We're giving up?" Beth's shoulders slumped.

"On _her,_ yeah. She's gonna live. Come on, we still got a little light, we can circle back around, pick up a new trail in the morning."

It was getting cold. Downright cold.

The dark brought the temperature down significantly. They risked a small fire, digging a pit. Beth lay on her stomach on top of their blanket and watched Daryl hunched on the other side of the fire, deftly skinning two of the squirrels he'd shot. "I'll be teachin' you this next."

"Can't wait," said Beth with a cringe.

Her hand was raw with fresh pain. She unwrapped the bandages to get a better look at the damage. It hadn't ever really healed right since she gnawed on it at Terminus. There was too much that she needed to do, that required her hands. She'd broken open the scabs every time they started to heal. Today, they skin looked especially angry, a few drops of blood stained the inside of the bandages. She hadn't thought to bring fresh wrappings with them.

Through the glimmer of the low firelight, she caught sight of Daryl's eyes flickering to her and then to her hand. His jaw set, and she found herself staring back at him; watching him think. She could tell that he had something he wanted to say, but he was holding back.

He was never going to be an open book, she realized as she stared at him in the dark. They were growing closer every day, but she could be with him for years (she dared to hope for the rest of her life) and they would still have moments like this one. It pricked her heart every time she saw it. He wasn't going to speak without a little push.

"Somethin' wrong?"

He set the meat over the fire to cook without answering, nearly pretending like he hadn't heard her. "You hurt your hand loadin' the crossbow?"

She shrugged, "And doin' a hundred other things."

He worked his way around the fire and lay down beside her, slipping one hand around the back of his head, while the other reached out to take a hold of her jaw. He traced his fingers so lightly down her neck and up to her face that she felt more tingle than actual flesh. Slowly, her mouth pulled into a grin, as she suppressed a giggle.

"You know, you don't gotta do this stuff just 'cause I say. Any of it."

So that was what was bothering him. She'd barely had to pry. They were making progress. "I know." She finished rewrapping her hand and leaned in to kiss him.

He left her hanging, "Oughtta tell me to go straight to hell, if I'm bein' too bossy."

"Is that an order, Mr. Dixon sir?"

He rolled his eyes at her, cheeks tinging pink. Then took her head in both hands and pulled her down to plant his mouth right over her throat. He bit down just hard enough to send a shiver running its way down to her toes.

By the time they remembered dinner, it was a little crispy. They smothered the fire and tucked in with a few make-shift walker alarms to keep them safe. The cold couldn't reach them. They pressed close together underneath the blanket, shared body heat keeping them comfortable enough to eventually drift off with arms tangled around each other.

Dawn woke them. As Beth forced herself upright she felt the miles that they'd hiked and tracked the day before, pushing her body into the ground. She wanted nothing more than to lie back down with Daryl.

The way he swore as he got to his feet, told her that he felt the same way.

From experience, she knew that the quickest way to feel better was to start hiking again. In silence, they gathered their things and weaved their way in the general direction of the motel.

"Tonight, when we get back to camp, we should give each other full-body massages," said Beth as she lifted the crossbow as high as she could over her head, stretching her aching shoulders.

"We tried that, remember?" said Daryl in a mumble.

"We'll try again."

"No arguments over here," Daryl stopped walking abruptly, "Wait—hold on, take a look 'round."

Burning a little in her cheeks, Beth realized that she'd completely forgotten to look for signs. She was still barely awake. Immediately she started scanning their surroundings, trying to see what he'd seen. She bit her lip, searching the ground. Embarrassed, her eyes flickered to Daryl's for a moment in silent apology.

"Gotta read the signs Greene. You're missin' things."

What was she missing? The only tracks she saw were probably just chipmunk and heading back the way they'd come. Not worth the effort. The greens had been nibbled and there was some discarded seeds, but they're probably been there a while. "I don't…" they it hit her, "Are those apple seeds?" her eyes got wide as she began to search through the trees.

"And a peach pit—over here." He gestured into the underbrush.

"There are fruit trees nearby," her heart did a little flip. It had been a long time since she had fresh fruit. A moment later it sank in disappointment as a chilly breeze touched her cheek gently, as if to get her attention. "It's too late in the year. All the fruit'll be rotted and dropped off by now."

"Come on, let's check it out anyway."

She knew exactly which way to go, once she knew they were searching for fruit trees, she shied away from the hearty terrain that led back to their motel and instead followed Daryl towards where the forest was thinning out, the ground growing level.

In a few dozen yards they came upon a large property, tucked away and seemingly vacant. They'd found their way to someone's former home. The house itself was small enough that they cleared it in about five minutes. It was one of the only places she'd ever cleared that was mostly, truly vacant. When they fled, the owners had locked and secured the doors. The only walker they found on the property was locked in a shed with a wheel-barrel propped against the door to keep it from breaking out.

As with most every place they went, Beth felt certain there was a story here. It looked like no one had managed to find this place just yet, which was rare. In the kitchen they opened a fridge that had died long ago, full of stinking, decaying food. In the cupboards, they picked out a few cans, jars and boxes to add to their haul. It wasn't what she'd expected to bring back to the others, but it was better than nothing.

Out on the grounds was the real prize. As she'd suspected, the chill had robbed the beautiful apple and peach trees of their fruit, but beside them was a greenhouse.

It was overflowing with fresh fruit and veg. Inside the house, Beth found a burlap sack and together they filled it with as much as they felt like carrying and shared a breakfast of fresh tomatoes.

"Leave it open." Beth suggested as Daryl went to shut the greenhouse door, "No point in the rest of it go to waste—let the critters come in and eat it."

Heartened by their discovery, they resumed their trek back to the motel, quickly coming upon hoofed tracks that seemed to be ambling not far off their path.

* * *

They returned to camp to find everything just as they'd left it. Their total haul consisted of two rabbits, four squirrels, one goat and the food that they'd salvaged from the abandoned house.

While Daryl went to offer up the food to Eugene and Tara (who seemed to have taken on the roles of being the designated cooks of the group) Beth made her way over to where Glenn was syphoning the gasoline out of the sedan.

"Hey! You're back," he took his mouth off the hose and drew a deep breath, looking a little green. "Maggie missed you."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I missed you too," Glenn grinned, "I guess," he added.

With a giggle she gave him a quick hug. "Won't it be tight, with all of us in just the one car?" There was a lot of space in the back of the jeep, but there were so many of them, and now they actually had a pretty good store of supplies to take.

"We need the fuel more than we need to be comfortable," Glenn paused to take a couple more breaths before putting his mouth back on the hose.

DC was a long way. They were going to need a lot of fuel.

Under most circumstances, Beth could keep a secret, but as she stood there with Glenn, she felt the urge to tell him about Maggie. The secret danced on the tip of her tongue. Finally she backed away with an inward sigh of frustration. It wasn't her confession.

* * *

Reluctantly, Beth put her T-shirt back on at Daryl's request.

"This is called Passin' the guard. Could save your life."

"Uh huh."

"You listenin'?"

"Kinda."

Daryl was on his back on their mattress, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers and a frown. "This ain't gonna work if only one of us is concentrating at a time."

Straddling his hips and with an arm posted on either side of his head, Beth agreed, but wasn't seeing it for the problem that it apparently was. "I'm payin' attention."

He groaned, "Now, I ain't," he slapped his own face lightly before launching immediately back into his lesson, "If he's managed to get you to the ground then there's still plenty you can do."

"Wait—I'm attacking?"

"Yeah—you're on top."

"So, you're the girl?"

"Shut up." He grabbed her left arm and pulled it close to his chest. "You gotta wrap up one of their arms. Pick the side you wanna roll. Try'n get the hand pinned between you and grab 'em," he wrapped her up in a tight hug, more loving than she felt was appropriate for a self-defense lesson. Her left foot was suddenly pinned by his leg, she hadn't even felt him move it.

She let out what was partially laugh and partially shriek as he rolled her onto her back. "How'd you learn all this?"

"Jail taught Merle. Merle taught me." He sat back at a crouch in front of her, "If you can, just get up and run for it. If he traps you—"

"How?"

"Wrap your legs around me."

She complied immediately, crossing her ankles behind his back.

He had that brazen look in his eye that she was coming to know very well. Kissing her passionately, he left her with the impression that their lesson was over, but it only lasted as long as he could hold his breath. "This, right here," he gasped in a quick breath, gripping onto her legs on either side of his waist, "Is the guard. I'm in your guard right now."

"I like you right there," she bit her lower lip.

"To escape, grab a handful of flesh here and tear," he curled his fingers into her inner thigh, but didn't apply the pressure he was talking about. Instead of making her drop her legs, she felt a warmth spreading through her as his fingertips moved along a familiar line up her thigh. "…They'll usually let go," murmured Daryl.

"Usually?"

"Dig in. Or go for the eyes, or the throat. Don't wanna be on your back, but from here, you can escape."

"Seems hard," she admitted, "But I wanna learn," she added quickly. "Just in case… you never know."

"Gotta practice. Best thing's always to run, if you can. If you can't, use whatever you got 'til you can get to your feet. Elbows and knees. Dirt. Fingernails. Teeth."

"Teeth?"

"Learn a thing or two from 'em walkers," he leaned into her neck and bit down, softly at first, then harder as she started to respond, letting out a moan. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she felt him tense up, grinding into her.

"This whole teachin' me to fight thing was a great idea," she gasped, "One of your better ones." But he was done talking.

* * *

**Green Man - Type O Negative**


	32. The End of The Line

Carol barely listened to Rick. Instead she poured over the map of Terminus that Glenn and Rick created, piecing together the various parts of it through the testimony of everyone who'd been kept there. She picked at it sometimes, wondering if they'd really gotten everything right. She could have sworn that Tyreese's train-car was on the far northern side. Maybe she was the one who was fuzzy on the details. The parts of it that she knew were right were the bits that she'd contributed. The armory, hospital and the Mother House.

"Abraham, Tyreese and Carl will follow Carol to the armory to clear out as many weapons as they can carry," she caught that much from Rick's explanation of each of their points and positions in his master-plan.

Rick could plan all he liked. It was never going to work out the way that he wanted it to.

Her relationship with Daryl was officially the last thing that Carol was worried about, but all the same, she felt a frustrating ache as she watched him embracing Beth. Of course, it was little more than a frustration at this point. She'd already decided that Daryl was right about all of it. She'd moved on—but still, some of those feelings lingered. She wondered if he ever experienced the same thing, but from the clear look in his eyes as he gazed down at the young girl, Carol doubted it. He was long gone.

Meanwhile, everything else was happening and it was going to be a huge shit-show. Everyone hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. She felt bad, heading into Terminus with all of them, and her being the only one who knew about the _other_ mission. It was going to throw a wrench into things, but she'd already thought this through so that no one else would have to bear the burden of it.

Most of them were going in. Only Beth, Judith, Eugene and Tara were staying behind, in the safest place they could find, a water-tower that Beth and Daryl remembered from when the Termites had dragged them out to lead the herd off-track.

They were better prepared this time. If anything happened, if anyone got separated from the group, they had a designated meeting spot—if it was compromised, they had a secondary one. They were trying to learn from their mistakes.

It would never be enough.

As the jeep rolled away from the water-tower, Carol took a few deep breaths and prepared to advocate for herself to Tyreese. It was coming. She had to tell him, and let him do whatever he needed to do to reconcile.

They dropped off the four fastest runners, Michonne, Glenn, Sasha and Rosita to set the fireworks off a quarter-mile from Terminus, in the opposite direction of their escape route. Their instructions were simple—light up the sky and draw the walkers away, then use the flares to keep them back when it was time to run for it.

The second that the rest of them were back on the road, the first of the fireworks went off. Blue and green fire sparkled above the trees. They didn't have enough to put on a proper show, but it would be enough to draw the walkers out of the train station, and probably attract any others that were in the area. Carol counted to thirty-four under her breath and then the next round went off.

They waited outside as the legions of undead marched out of Terminus, ambling in the direction of the fire, light and sound in the sky. No one spoke, but hunkered down silently in the jeep, far enough away that the walkers shouldn't see or smell them. When it seemed like it had been reduced to little more than a trickle of corpses every few minutes, Rick rolled right over the fallen fence and into Terminus.

It was nearly deserted now. Only the slowest of the walkers, those with compromised legs, or who were already caught against something where left behind. They would make for easy opponents.

"Everyone's got a destination, and a job—get in and get out," said Rick. They divided immediately, weapons drawn and eyes wary, though trouble hadn't reared its head yet.

"The armory is this way," said Carol in undertone, motioning for her little assigned team to follow her.

Stripping Terminus' corpse seemed like an appropriate end to their experience with the place. She couldn't help but relish it a little. These people had tried to abuse them in every way imaginable. The empty, whistling train-station was desolate now. The fires had blackened the roofs. The walkers had driven them out. The fences were down. She marched and pushed away thoughts of the prison and what had become of it.

Tyreese walked right beside her, stoic and steady, as always. They hadn't spoken much since rejoining the others. She'd been actively avoiding speaking to him, as opposed to her unintentional cold-shoulder towards Daryl. He hadn't asked her about what she said that first night in camp. Perhaps he'd forgotten, or he'd been so tired that he thought he'd dreamed the whole conversation in the first place.

Behind them, Abraham and Carl hung back a little, casually killing a few walkers with their knives and then hurrying to catch up to Carol and Tyreese.

When they reached the armory, Carol took a deep breath. "Alright. I'm sorry to do this." She stopped in front of the door and stepped back, feeling her shoulders bend. "Abraham, take Carl in there and get as much as you can. Tyreese and I have something else we need to do."

Immediately, Abraham's face darkened with deep suspicion. He glanced at the baffled expression on Tyreese's face and then whirled back to Carol. "What the hell are you tryin' to pull, lady?"

"We don't have time for this," said Carl, sounding much more grown up than Carol was comfortable with.

"I'm sorry. We'll hurry back."

"What's this about?" Tyreese's hands were clenching and unclenching anxiously, his hammer twisting in his grip.

"Sophie," she said quietly. "It's about Sophie."

"Come on," Carl decided to proceed without the adults and opened the door a crack, checking that there wasn't a parade of walkers on the other side. There must not have been, because he immediately disappeared into the armory.

Abraham gave both of them a hard look before he set his jaw and headed after the boy.

Tyreese was looking at the ground, "Is she trapped somewhere, we gotta find her and put her down?" he murmured.

Slowly, Carol moved her head back and forth.

Tyreese's eyes got wide, a familiar, wild madness flooded into them. It was the same look he had when he woke up from nightmares. "She's _alive_?"

"I don't know," Carol admitted.

Too fast for her to see, he closed the space between them, driving her backwards a few steps. Automatically her hand flinched to her hip where she kept her knife, but he didn't raise his hand, his eyes were boring into her all the same, accusing and vicious as she'd never seen them before, "_What do you mean you don't know_?"

"She could be safe. I hope she's safe," her voice died in her throat. It had been a long time since she'd felt that panicked sensation. She'd been sure he was going to throttle her, for just an instant. In a flash, she recognized that she'd misinterpreted what he was feeling. He wasn't angry, he was devastated. He wasn't going to hit her, he was going to cry. She'd lied to him.

"I didn't have a choice," but her practiced argument sounded lifeless as it poured from her lips. "They locked the mother's up for safety. They're supposed to stay holed up for two weeks. They've got supplies… As long as they followed that plan, then she should be safe. But if they didn't, there was nothing I could do. There were walkers everywhere. If I got to her, I'd just end up letting the dead inside and then all the mothers would die—me too, and Sophie—but I knew you wouldn't leave."

Tyreese had turned his back to her now, holding his face in his hands, fingers inching towards his ears. Not wanting to hear her, but she had to make him.

"I'm so _sorry_ Tyreese, please believe me!"

"_Where_ is she?"

With her throat tight, she turned and started to march in the direction of the Mother House. Tyreese fell into step just behind her, making sure that she couldn't see his face.

"I knew you couldn't leave her here." She didn't know why she kept talking. She had already said everything that she'd decided should justify what she'd done. All the same, the words spilled out of her. "I knew you wouldn't—that's why I lied, because you're a _good_ person and you couldn't just leave her there, even when it was the right choice—the only choice. I'm not a good person, Tyreese. That's why I could leave her."

He didn't say a word.

The Mother House was still locked-up tight, which made Carol breathe an inward sigh of relief. Every day that Rick had brought them by to check on the place from a distance, she'd searched for the Mother House and tried to discern whether it looked like it was holding together. But it was always too far to tell for sure. She could see that it was still there, but that was about all.

The second that he reached the door, Tyreese took his hammer to the locks. The second that the door opened, a walker, in the form of what had formerly been a teenaged-girl slithered around the door, snarling and clawing at them. Without hesitation Tyreese bashed her in the head with his hammer.

The walker stumbled and fell down the steps, landing right beside where Carol had collapsed the moment that she saw her.

Unrelenting, more of the corpses poured from the Mother House. For a few nightmarish moments, Carol was stunned to inaction, leaving Tyreese to fight on his own. He broke open head after head, until finally Carol joined him. Together, they fought their way into the Mother House.

Her hands shook. It if hadn't been for the handle on her knife, she wouldn't have been able to keep her grip on it. Over two dozen bodies fell around them, until finally there were no more coming and Carol could let her knees give. She wept silently on the floor.

Tyreese shuffled around her, clearly horrified and sickened, but eyes still searching for hope. "She isn't one of them."

But that didn't mean anything. They wouldn't find any of the babies either. Once there was one walker inside the Mother House, death could only spread, and it was hungry.

"Carol," he placed one heavy hand on her shoulder. "Carol, listen to me."

It was her turn to cover her ears and hide her face from him.

Gripping either arm, he lifted her up and bodily turned her around, crushing her in a hug. "Listen to me," he pleaded with her again, "Judith got out. Do you really think she's the only one from this house that got out alive? If that doctor fled, other people did too."

"I told her to stay!" Carol sobbed into his chest, "She begged me to help her get out. Not to leave her. I told her to _stay_. I thought it would be safer."

He let her cry, kept a hold on her until she wriggled free, stumbling towards the doorway. He let her grieve for a few moments, then led her out of the Mother House and with a steady voice said, "Sophie's not here. She's not dead. I felt it all along. Now I know why. It's because she's out there."

* * *

Abraham and Carl tried to work out what had been going on. Tyreese warned them to drop it, and to Carol's immense relief, they did. At least for now.

They were still in the middle of their mission to strip Terminus' corpse, so there was plenty to be done. Burdened with as many weapons and as much ammunition as they could carry, they made seemingly endless trips between the jeep and the armory. They never crossed paths with the other teams, looking for food and medical supplies respectively, but could see the haul growing steadily larger.

As the four of them approached the jeep for the last time, it was to find the other groups gathered and waiting for their runners.

"The fireworks stopped ages ago—they should be here by now," Maggie was looking anxiously in the direction of the entrance.

"They might have cut across the woods—you know that, come on, there's still a little space, we might be able to make a few more trips—" Rick was cut off as Bob gave a shout, pointing out to the distance, where their four runners had just appeared.

Something was wrong. Carol felt like a cold hand had just slithered its way around her throat. She wasn't sure why, but something about their returning people didn't settle quite right with her. Maybe it was their pace. They weren't in any kind of a hurry. A quarter-mile was close enough that they all should have been able to take it at a run. All four of them were walking evenly. No one appeared outwardly injured, but all the same, there was something heavy about the way that they walked.

It didn't look like a march of victory.

They looked defeated.

Uneasy now to the extreme, Carol took note of the silence that had fallen over everyone. Without even looking at their faces, she thought she could tell that she wasn't the only one who had noticed that this didn't seem quite right.

Without voicing any concerns that she might be having, Maggie bolted to meet her husband. In a few breaths, the rest of them followed suit.

They met the runners more than half-way.

Michonne looked to Rick's eyes first, her own were sparkling with moisture, but her jaw was taut. Sasha and Rosita were each standing a little too close to Glenn.

"What the hell happened?" Rick demanded.

Maggie moved to embrace her husband but stopped when she saw his shaken expression. He had one hand tight below his jaw.

"Wasn't fast enough," said Glenn tonelessly, he lowered his hand, revealing a shallow but distinctive bite-mark right on his neck.

Looking at their faces, Carol could tell that with only herself as the exception, the gut-reaction for every one of them was denial. For most, it only lasted a few seconds. Maggie was shaking her head, approaching Glenn with both hands outstretched, fingers closing futilely on his chest. She was trembling so badly that Carol doubted she could say anything, even if there was a word to sufficiently convey real grief.

It was Michonne who spoke first, her voice was raw, "It was my fault."

"Bullshit. You pulled that walker off me," said Glenn, still not looking away from his wife. He pressed his forehead firmly against hers as she began to weep in earnest.

"Not fast enough," Michonne swept a few paces away from them, lips trembling.

"It's not deep," said Rosita, though her voice was raw that was hope that baffled Carol during the tense pause when Rosita took a deep breath. "He says he's been scratched before. What if… what if he's built up an immunity or something and the fever doesn't hit him?" She looked at Bob, wincing, afraid to give them hope where there was none.

A jolt of anger brought the taste of bile into Carol's throat. Maggie's countenance hadn't exactly lifted, but there was a glimmer of light there, sparkling through the tears in her devastating green eyes. _Don't do this to her._

"It's not impossible," said Bob, but he sounded grave. "Really—we don't know much about this thing. We're all infected with it, but it doesn't kill us… that makes me think that the fever from the bites could be different from whatever it is that turns us into those things." He winced, seemingly worried that his rapid, clinical response might seem insensitive. "W-what I mean is—that it's not impossible… But I've never seen it."

None of them had, because it didn't happen. You got bit, you died. No one managed to beat the fever. Carol ground her teeth, finally having to tear her eyes away from Glenn, who's face seemed to look a little less grim. Probably, he'd rejected the idea when Rosita originally suggested it, but now that he was hearing a doctor say that it was possible, he was letting hope take hold. Carol didn't want to watch this.

Rick hadn't said anything. He was clearly trying hard to keep it together, but it would only be so long before the seal broke. "Alright, you heard the doctor. Nothin' we can do but wait and see," his voice betrayed how he was really feeling, shaken and frightened, he swallowed hard and motioned for them to move out. There was no sense mourning those who hadn't died yet. Glenn was still here.

She understood, but at the same time, Carol couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't believe that Glenn might not die of his pitifully shallow bite, or that Sophie hadn't been ripped apart by the other Mothers-turned-walkers. The world was a bleak, hopeless place. She climbed into the back of the jeep with the others, and they rolled over the crushed gates again.

On the way back to the water tower to pick up the last of their people, no one said anything, except for Maggie and Glenn who were whispering to one another. Everyone was grim, heads down, eyes blank. Carol wouldn't have tried to start a conversation with anyone anyway, but some of the others were pointedly silent. Everyone was watching Maggie and Glenn, as if afraid that if they did speak a word, it might distract the young lovers from their final moments together.

_He doesn't look feverish._ It wasn't exactly an optimistic voice, but all the same, Carol gave the toneless observation a little bit of space in her heart, only to have it followed by the heaviest of inward sighs. She'd known Glenn since practically the beginning of this whole mess. She knew that she would never mourn him the way that Maggie or Rick or some of the other might, but all the same, she had to clench her jaw and shut her eyes against him to keep from letting a whimper come out of her mouth. She'd always admired him. He was a completely normal, nice guy. Exactly the sort of person who should have been destroyed or changed by the turn that took the world, and instead, he'd thrived.

That was the real optimism that Carol could turn to; it wasn't the naive idea that he might survive, but the firm knowledge that even when he did die (maybe in just a few hours) his life had been meant something; he'd conquered an unconquerable world.

He won.

Even when he finally lost. Death couldn't take the victories he'd earned.

It was all any of them could hope for.

The military jeep was perfect for taking on the forest terrain. All the same, the last half-mile up to the water-tower was especially bumpy. They all gripped the sides.

Once again, from a distance, Carol could tell that something was wrong.

Tara, carrying Judith in her arms, was at the base of the water-tower, running towards them. Eugene was just on her heels.

Beth was nowhere to be seen.

Before the jeep had even come to a full stop, Daryl was preparing the climb out the back. He hit the ground at a run, but didn't head straight towards Tara, Eugene and Judith. Instead he veered off to the side, eyes on the ground, "What happened?" his voice cracked and then Carol saw what he was looking at. The ground was visibly disturbed. You didn't have to be a good tracker to see that the ground was beaten with footprints. A group of people had bowled right through this area.

"It was some Termites—we tried to hide, but they saw Beth, she ran—"

"Where?" Daryl's voice broke, but he was trying to stay level, she could see the effort making his clenched fists shake.

"We'll show you."

* * *

**I Know You Care - Ellie Goulding**


	33. On Higher Ground

From the top of the water-tower Beth traced the last few weeks of her life through the dense woods, swells and roads that cut like scars. With Judith sitting against her hip, she looked through the telescope that the Termites had left behind. She couldn't see into Terminus itself, though that was the first thing that she tried. The angle was all wrong. She could see the buildings and where some of the tracks ran together, but the purpose of this perch hadn't been to see inside the compound.

Once she learned this, she traced the approximate path that she and Daryl had been dragged along when the Termites intended to use them as bait and to satiate a menacing herd of the undead. She guessed approximately where she and Daryl had made their stand, though there was so much cover she couldn't manage to find the pile of corpses they'd left behind.

They followed the road up to the nameless village where Father Gabriel's church was blackened and deserted on a hill. She remembered the night they'd spent in the police station, her encounter with Randall, her relief at finding everyone again. It seemed like it had been so long ago. So much had changed since then. She recalled her halting, uncomfortable conversations with Daryl during those days.

Their first camp was hidden behind some high, rolling hills in the distance, but she found the area where she was fairly certain the motel was. The woods surrounding it looked different from this vantage point, but all the same, she thought she recognized some of the trails she and Daryl had come across when they spent a few precious days on their own, hunting.

"Hey, my turn," Tara tapped her on the shoulder.

Beth straightened up with a sigh and scooted Judith a little further up her hip, motioning for Tara to step forward.

Eagerly, she shot Beth a smile before she bent into the telescope, warm brown eyes immediately betraying her confusion when she saw what Beth had been looking at. "You're nowhere near Terminus!" she complained.

"You can't see inside anyway," Beth shrugged awkwardly with one shoulder, then sat down cross-legged with her back against the water tower, turning Judith around so she was facing her, sitting in her lap.

"Bummer," declared Tara, with a half-fist, she knocked the telescope off-track with a little sigh of annoyance. She turned her back to the sky, resting against the railing.

Eugene was standing about six feet away from them, eyes also pealed in the direction of Terminus. Beth had observed that he had a natural frown, the corners of his mouth dipped down so easily, but it was even more pronounced today, his eyes dipped together too.

For a few minutes no one tried to start a conversation, with the possible exception of Judith, who babbled every few minutes. It was a welcome distraction for Beth, who tried to speculate on what her first words would be. But it couldn't keep her mind occupied enough not to worry.

She knew that the others were feeling the same way. It was hard to be left behind, even—no especially when it was supposed to be for safety. Beth hated the thought of everyone else in danger while she was safe in a tower. She knew that it was what made the most sense. Someone needed to protect Judith, that's what everyone had told her, but she still felt sick, thinking about what the others were going through. They might be struggling for their lives and she was just sitting here on her ass, listening to the wind howl.

"So, you and Daryl," said Tara with a pensive look. "Is that recent?" she spoke with the air of someone who was more uncomfortable with silence than genuinely interested in the topic.

"Yeah," Beth shrugged, "…Sort of," she thought better of it.

Tara frowned for a moment, eyebrows knit, then nodded, "I get what you mean."

With the pads of her fingertips, Beth straightened out Judith's fingers, one by one, inspecting her fingernails for dirt. She didn't mind the silence as much as she used to, and wondered if it had something to do with her early days with Daryl. It had been uncomfortable at some points, how little he'd talk to her, but after a while she'd grown accustomed to it and had come to read into his looks and actions better.

"How old are you?" asked Tara in a would-be casual voice.

"I'll be nineteen, one of these days," she'd lost track of the days. Hopefully, someone in their group was paying attention.

"Hey, Eugene, what month is it?" Tara turned to him.

"October," he answered automatically.

"I don't think that's right." It wasn't cold enough for that yet, was it? As if on cue she felt a chill course its way down her spine, carried to her by the wind.

"November," Eugene still hadn't torn his eyes away from the woods.

"Something like that," Tara looked only mildly disturbed at having lost track of time as well, she chewed on her tongue a minute then said, "He seems like a cool guy. Kind of terrifying, but not like Terminus terrifying—more like Batman terrifying. Is that what you like about him?"

"I like a lot of things about him," said Beth with a mild laugh.

"The man has a kind of rugged elegance," Eugene offered in his usual passionless mumble.

Beth had to keep from laughing as she saw Tara's face slide into an expression that was becoming familiar; a sort of empty stare that somehow still managed to convey her exasperation. Ignoring Eugene she turned back to Beth, "He's what… in his thirties? Early forties?"

Beth shrugged again.

"It's cool you're so chill about it," Tara nodded in approval, "I respect that." She held out her fist.

It took a moment for Beth to remember what was called for. She had to dig underneath several months of survival lifestyle secrets, self-defense, cooking and baby-rearing to find the dusty remnants of high school conduct. "Pound it," she said it out-loud when she remembered and bumped her own fist into Tara's, a giggle escaped as she grinning.

Judith let out a squeal and reached up with both hands towards where their fists had touched.

Tara and Beth both burst out laughing and Eugene finally turned his back to the woods and faced his companions.

"We should teach her!" Tara crouched down in front of Judith and began to help the baby-nearing-toddler to form a fist.

Tara's utterly useless attempts to teach Judith how to bump fists served as a welcome distraction from their worry. But it didn't last, especially not for Beth, who found herself feeling shivers, though there was no more wind. She finally put Judith into Tara's lap and stood up to look through the telescope again. No matter how she adjusted the angle, she couldn't see anything inside of Terminus. The angle put them too high, so could only make out the tops of the trees and burned-out buildings around it.

Straightening up again, she crossed her arms over her stomach and exchanged a look with Eugene. Both of them watched the woods in silence for a few moments. It looked like they were observing opposite sides of the same wood, but both their heads snapped to center when they each caught movement in the trees.

"Walkers?" said Beth hopefully.

"No," Eugene said, already heading towards the ladder.

Quickly, Beth used the telescope to check. It took her a split second to adjust, but he was right. The man was walking too swiftly and gracefully, he held an automatic rifle against his shoulder. Others were partially obscured behind him. It had taken her a moment to adjust the scope, but when she got a decent look at the face of the man out front of the group, her heart jumped.

By the time she sprinted to the ladder, Tara and Eugene were already there and arguing about what to do.

"We're supposed to stay _here_!" Tara reminded him in a hiss, as if afraid they would hear them.

"If anything goes wrong we're supposed to go to the meeting spot. Something has gone wrong," said Eugene, "Hand me the baby, I have more acceptable upper-body strength, it will not tire me out to take this ladder one-handed."

"What if we just hide around the back until—" Tara started, looking very pale at the prospect of leaving their post.

"They're from Terminus," said Beth, shaking her head. "They're probably headed here—to get the telescope, or water, or maybe there are others supplies hidden, but this place was theirs. They're making a bee-line right to us, we gotta go!"

The discussion ended there, Eugene was already descending from the ladder, holding Judith firmly in one arm, while the other awkwardly clung and then released one rung at a time. Once they hit the ground, Beth took Judith back. "This way."

Without question, they followed her. Beth veered away from the path that the returning Termites were taking, she wanted to take them down-hill and at an angle. It was further from their meeting spot, but if they were heading down, they could cover more ground quickly and get far away.

As Judith began to cry, she tried to slow down and make their flight not so bumpy, but it didn't help. The baby did not like their running.

"We've got to get her quiet!" Tara came to a stop, resting her hands against her knees, her eyes searched the woods desperately. The baby's cried were bouncing off the trees around them, seemingly amplified.

"We need to keep moving," said Eugene, looking in concern up-hill. But he was winded too, they all were.

"We need to find a place to hide," Beth searched the woods for something obvious, but there was nothing in sight, just trees and rolling ground. "Hush," she begged Judith who only wailed in her ear.

"Oh, _shit_," Tara hissed, stumbling backwards a few feet.

Then Beth saw it too, blending into the gloom of the forest, resting against trees or lying on the ground far ahead of them, was movement. Grey bodies, stringy hair and halting, haggard intakes of air, just enough to make ragged, fiendish shrieks and gasps, the dead were here. They came together as they merged to come towards their prey, becoming a small herd in a few gradual, dragging paces.

"Come on!" Beth shouted over Judith's screams. She headed towards the largest swelling of ground, crossing her fingers that there would be some way to hide. They came around the curve in the land, it wasn't high, but it might be high enough that if they lay flat they wouldn't be seen by anything living or dead. Then they just had to worry about getting Judith to settle.

"Try to get her to suck on your knuckle," Beth handed the baby to Eugene again and collapsed on the ground a moment, trying to draw in deep breaths. The four of them lay as still and as flat as they could. After a few seconds, Judith quieted, her face was still wet with frustrated tears, but she seemed to be momentarily satisfied with Eugene's finger.

"They're still heading this way," Beth peaked around the little hill to try and find the herd. She searched the ground for the largest rock that she could find and threw it as far as she could. It clattered against a tree, but the sound wasn't enough to draw their attention, not when there had been a baby's cries just a few minutes earlier. She counted a dozen of them; far too many for her to take on all by herself. She could get Tara to help her, but even for the two of them, they wouldn't stand much of a chance without using their guns, and the sound would only make things worse.

"Remind me to become more proficient with an axe," said Tara in a trembling voice, she was probably thinking exactly what Beth was. They were going to need to fight these walkers.

Beth found another rock and threw it as well. She didn't even hear this one fall. This wasn't going to work unless she waited for the whole herd to get too close for comfort.

At least Judith was being quiet now. She picked up another rock, and aimed just up-hill from the herd. As she hoped, it made a sound when it hit the ground and then continued to clatter as it rolled downwards. This, finally, seemed to turn the walker's attention. With flayed bones, dropping heads and nightmarish toothy mouths, they swiveled their collective attention uphill, their march staggering only slightly as they changed direction.

Then, the familiar, but always jarring sound of gun blast rocketed past her. She covered her ears immediately, her heart racing. The bullet hadn't come anywhere near her, in fact, she found its target in the time when the ringing of the gunshot was still fresh and rattling in her head. The walker at the top of the hill, out in front of her it had fallen to the ground with its head busted open.

A sudden shower of gunfire sounded and more of the walkers fell. Beth turned to look up-hill and found who was taking out the walkers, but even without seeing them, she already knew. It was the very people they'd been running from in the first place.

Franco, she remembered his name like remembering a paper-cut, the large man who'd been in the jeep with them when they escaped together. He lowered his gun as those around him took out the other walkers in a few rapid, bloody seconds. His eyes had found her.

She ducked back behind the hill but it was too late. "He saw me," she gasped. "He saw me, he saw me. He's gonna come." She covered her mouth with her hand, she was shaking badly.

Eugene had the good sense to stop Judith's ears with both his hands. Luckily, the sound hadn't caused her to start wailing again. The three of them looked at Beth, stricken.

There was only one choice. "I've gotta run for it!" said Beth.

"What—no, you can't!" Tara's eyes got wide.

"He saw me, but he didn't see you. If I run the other way, he'll just come after me and they won't find you. It's fine," she stole herself in an instant. She couldn't stop her body or her voice shaking, exactly, but she could spare the time she needed to take a deep breath. "Don't be seen." She bolted out from the behind the hill, heard a shout from Franco.

Immediately the whole of the ground let out a chorus of sickeningly excited shout. "There's your dinner, dogs—_go get it_!"Franco bellowed.

It was like someone had pulled that ripcord out of her heart again. Her feet beat the ground, and she ran faster than she ever had, she let momentum and gravity steer her through the terrain, nearly losing her balance as she stumbled over a few uneven patches of ground. She weaved through the trees, changing direction to work her way around hills and through more rugged terrain, hoping to lose them in the chaos of the thickening woods.

She'd never thought of herself as being a very fast runner, but it seemed that she was faster than they were, at least. She couldn't hear them coming after her, and the one time she spared a glance over her shoulder, she didn't see anyone chasing after her.

Whirling back around, she picked up her pace again.

She was alone in the woods, armed with one gun, eight bullets and a sharp dagger.

And they were hunting her.

* * *

**Heartlines – Florence + The Machine**


	34. Hunters

**Deep breath.**

* * *

Using her exhaustion as a gauge, Beth felt like she'd gone a couple of miles. If she kept up this pace, she was going to wear herself down to nothing. She started to slow, but didn't let herself stop moving.

She could only hope that she'd successfully led them away from Tara, Eugene and Judith. If they'd heard the baby crying earlier, they would know that she hadn't been alone, but the whole crowd of them had run after her as one, it was the best she could do—to give Tara, Eugene and Judith the chance to slip away. Now to give herself a chance too, she needed to double back around and make it to their first meeting spot, the one where their pathways naturally intersected.

Turning around the bend of another hill, she collided right into three walkers. With one hand, she covered her mouth to keep from screaming, while the other one dove to unsheathe her knife, she stumbled backwards as the closest walker reached out to her, snarling. She kicked it to the ground, just as the second lurched towards her. Blood spurted from its broken eye-sockets as her dagger automatically found its target. She scrambled backwards as if fell onto her.

Quickly and without a hint of grace she killed the last one frantically, then hurried to take care of the first one that she'd only managed to repel; she'd hardly gotten her bearings back when it was on top of her. She stabbed it in the eye, but it kept throwing its weight against her, even as the dagger dug deeper into its skull, they fell onto the ground together.

Abruptly, the walker's weakened bones gave and the dagger shifted down through it's face with a sickening gush of rotten gore, cutting past what remained of its nose. With her hand still on the hilt, she felt herself slip as well—her hand fell right into its mouth and teeth closed with a sensation like fire. Unable to hold it back, a scream of pain and denial ripped free from her throat. The walker's gray, jaw clamped shut right on top of her bandages, in the exact place where she'd ripped her own flesh with her teeth a few weeks earlier. At first, it seemed like the walker had only caught the bandage, but she felt the tearing and the hot, unstoppable flow of fresh blood as the walker chewed right through the gauze, getting a taste of her blood before the dagger scrambled its brain.

The walker stopped moving, but for a moment Beth lay there underneath it, shaking and unable to keep from letting out a whimper as she tried, to get her hand out of its mouth. The gauze was caught in its teeth.

Finally, she shoved the walker off and ripped the gauze while pulling her hand out of its mouth. The tattered side of the bandage only disguised the damage for a few seconds, then the material drenched red. Frantically, she ripped it off, mind blank, breathing shallow and desperate.

It was bad. It was bad enough. The gnarly teeth- marks where slightly off-set from her own. It almost looked like it was just her old wounds re-opened.

The bleeding had already stopped. The bite throbbed, and the pulse of it seemed to be slowly spread. It would reach her heart. She rewrapped the wound with her torn gauze, her hands shaking badly. She wasn't sure why she bothered to wrap it at all.

She knew what she had to do. "_If thy right hand offends thee…_" she murmured. At least it was only her left hand. Small favors.

As best she could, she used her T-shirt to clean the walker blood off her dagger. It was all she had to work with. It was her only chance.

The blade of the knife hovered over the pale scars that she'd put there herself two years earlier. This time, it wasn't about dying, it was about living, but all the same her mind carried her back to that desperate, maddening moment right before she'd begun cutting into herself the first time.

Mocking her, the bite pulsated angrily underneath the bandages. The gumption was there, she just had to reach out and take it. Her dagger was sharp. She could do this. She started ripping at the hem of her shirt first, to make a tourniquet, wishing she had a belt. Her dagger still shook in her uninjured right hand.

The snap of a twig scared her back up to her feet.

Franco appeared around the curve of the hill, gun raised and pointed right at her. From the other side of the hill, two more men appeared, out of the corner of her eye, she recognized the brothers who'd also been in the jeep. The others caught up. Two women, and then two familiar faces.

Randall and Father Gabriel took up the rear. To their credit, they looked utterly horrified.

"Put the dagger down." Franco pulled the hammer back.

Beth didn't move.

"Put the dagger down, or eat a bullet."

She was going to die. Either they would kill her now, or they would kill her when they saw she was bitten, or the bite would kill her. There had to be a way out of this, but she couldn't see it. Slowly, she set the dagger down, mind and heart racing. There had to be something she could do—some way she could survive this.

"Put the gun down next to it."

She moved gradually, trying to give herself a few precious seconds to think, but she honestly had no idea how she was going to get out of this.

"Bloody bandage," said one of the women. Her bright red hair was plaited into a long French-braid down her back. She cocked her head at Beth's hand.

Red dripped from the recent trauma as she set the gun down on the ground.

"You bit?" the red-head asked sharply, pointing her own gun at Beth as well.

Franco snorted, "Yeah, but not by a walker—little miss blonde did that to herself when she was cuffed in the hospital. Gnawed through her own hand like some kind of animal to get free."

He couldn't see that it was fresh, or he just thought she'd torn open her own wound. She wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not that he had dismissed the idea that she'd been bitten.

"Franco, please—don't hurt the girl," begged Father Gabriel, he had his hands raised to show he wasn't armed, as he approached the scene tentatively.

"I believe we were promised a meal," said one of the brothers, glaring darkly, "Randall, control your priest."

"I didn't recognize her until just now… but the last time I saw this little bitch, she was running in the wrong direction—a herd of walkers ready to plow right through her. How the hell did you get yourself out of that mess unscathed?" Franco looked her from the toes up.

The red-head went from looking confused to downright horrified, "_This_ is the girl?! The one who was dragged off to be walker food with the archer, the ones who killed Brady?"

"And crippled our truck, and apparently she survived while the dead were eatin' her boyfriend—and yours," Franco guessed, raising his eyebrows.

"No. The archer made it out too," Randall spoke up for the first time, he was looking around the woods warily, as if expecting Daryl to be hidden somewhere nearby. "You can't eat 'em," he said suddenly, his face sickly pale as he faced Franco, "You can't—she's, she's alright—don't you… she's the one who gave me that tip about the vet's office. If we hadn't known that Juno and Sophie might not've made it, come on," Randall held out his hands towards Franco in supplication.

"We need food—the water-tower was _cleaned_ out, we were counting on that. We can't go back to camp empty-handed, and we need a meal tonight," argued one of the brothers.

"More important," the red-head lowered her gun, she was looking at Beth with wide eyes, "She's _strong_ Franco. She got away from a herd. A survivor. What if we saved her, brought her back to camp… started over."

"_No_!"said Father Gabriel sharply, immediately the air around her erupted into shouts. She had reignited a debate that they were clearly still in the middle of. "No more of your _heathen—_"

"I haven't lost _my_ faith!"

"Forget faith, we need _food_."

"Half the camp will leave if—"

"They won't go anywhere. They don't have anywhere to go."

Infected and overwarm, her bitten hand seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment. Weighing her into the dirt like a lopsided doll. She felt stunned; her mind a blank, her breathing was the only thing she could focus on. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out their shouts and angry debate. In her mind she pictured Daryl, during their time alone in the woods. Remember the warm feel of being enfolded into him, his touch, hungry and gentle and firm and thrilling all at once. She had to survive.

Whatever happened, she had to get back. The first step was to cut her hand off.

She lunged for the dagger on the ground, her fingers closed around it.

While the others had been arguing, Franco had been watching her. The second she touched the hilt, he barreled through the distance between them, grabbing a hold of her, right over her bite—crushing the broken skin in his unforgiving grip. She let out a cry.

"Here's _my_ decision," he shouted, "Hilly is right. She's a perfect sacrifice, or a perfect meal. Or why not both? She must be tasty if she was so willing to chew on her own hand," she didn't think it was possible for his hold on her injured hand to get even tighter, but he squeezed hard as he shoved her to the ground head first. He held her arm out straight with one hand, while the other pulled a machete from his belt.

She braced herself, but could never have prepared sufficiently for what happened next. Her elbow burst as the blade connected with it, the bone breaking as blood spurted from her arm. She bit into the ground, screaming as he hacked twice more, finally pulling her severed arm away from the ragged stump. The bloody remnants of her arm flopped into the dirt. For a few angry, red seconds before she blacked out, she was still aware of all of it.

Father Gabriel's cries of protest, Randall's traumatized expression, and Franco tossing her severed arm to the other woman, "Make us some stew or something."

* * *

On foot, Daryl led Maggie and Rick, winding through the woods to follow the path. If they spoke, he wasn't hearing it so well. The jeep followed close behind. Everyone was locked and loaded and ready for a fight. His hope was all wrapped up in the image of petite and sweet woman with blue eyes like breaking glass.

He'd be lying if he tried to pretend like he didn't want to kill someone today.

It wasn't exactly a righteous desire, but he couldn't hold it back, all the same. Daryl didn't usually think of himself as a blood-thirsty man, but he'd had his moments. Strangely enough, he seemed to experience less of them _after_ the world ended and he'd been let off his leash. But he gave into those moments now, whereas before, he'd kept it together.

Why the hell did she love him anyway? He felt more beast than man. She even seemed to like that about him. The least he could do was make sure that the beast served her. She needed that monster right now. She needed someone to kill for her.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to dwell on where she might be or what they might be doing to her. He was going to get stupid if he didn't bridle that shit.

He couldn't help but see the signs now, however. The land was screaming the story at him from all sides. If he focused too hard, he'd drive himself mad with the fear and the anger.

_She's counting on you. No time to go axe-crazy. Think about that, think about her._

He pictured her as she should be, happy, playful, foolish and wise, somehow full of perfect sorrow, but still radiating with light. She was always so many things, all at once. He remembered chasing her through the woods, just days earlier, finally catching her by the waist, feeling her tremble as she whirled around in his arms, smiling up at him like he might actually be what made her smile. He thought about the feel of yellow hair in his hands and her laughter in his head. He thought about how she tasted like summer and how it felt to hear her whispering in his ear.

He had an easy trail to follow. The Termites thought they were hunters and so they hadn't bothered to do anything to disguise their path. It was beaten into the ground. They might as well have left big neon signs for him to follow.

For speed, the three of them would hop back into the jeep wherever the trail was most obvious.

Greene had led these dead bastards on a hell of a chase, weaving through underbrush and around swells. She must have been moving fast—they'd already gone a full mile and the pursuit was still painted on the ground. For a moment, a flood of fear was all he could experience, he imagined being her in this moment, heart racing, feet and lungs beat all to hell as she tried desperately to just be _away._ His own heart started to race and he growled out loud, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to bury the feeling and cling to it at the same time. "Stop," he beat the side of the jeep with his fist, and was crawling out even before Tyreese got the message and put on the breaks.

Maggie and Rick were right behind him.

Finally, the path hit a snag. Daryl had been searching for this, and he'd been terrified to see it. A snag couldn't be good. They rounded the hill and came upon three dead walkers and an obvious dust-up.

In the middle of it, were scraps and fresh blood.

"W-what is that?" Maggie's voice trembled as she came up behind Daryl.

Without taking note of his own actions, Daryl had crouched down in the mess and picked up the cleaned bones, still sticky. Discarded skin was jumbled with torn and bloodied gauze, along with a jumble of leather cords and bracelets.

With fingers that were usually so steady and graceful, Maggie clumsily took the jumble of bracelets from Daryl's hand. "Oh, _oh…_" Maggie's voice collapsed into a kind of sickened gurgle, she gasped in a breath, eyes shimmering.

"Maggie, maybe you should go be in the jeep with Glenn," Rick started to suggest in as mild a voice as he was capable of. He tried to help her to her feet, but she didn't need his arm.

Once she was on her feet she had a hold of him by the lapel, driving him backwards, "We gotta find these guys and _kill_—Rick, you hear me?"

Agreeing with her, whole-heartedly, Daryl stood up and resumed the trail, though he only made it a few drunken steps before he had to stop and catch himself against a tree.

"Daryl—Daryl…" Rick was at his side in an instant, hand on his shoulder. He opened and closed his mouth, at a loss.

"Come on. They went this way," Daryl barely heard himself speak. It might have only come out as a growl to Maggie and Rick.

Before, there had been eight sets of footprints. Now there were only seven.

Someone could be carrying her. She might be alive. She had to be alive.

Rage and fear twisted inside him, threatening to blind him; eat him whole. He could barely register anything besides the trail. He didn't know if Maggie and Rick had jumped back in the jeep or if they were right next to him. He didn't know whether he was walking or running or being pushed or held up by some unseen force. It was another half-hour before he realized that he was still clutching her bones.

* * *

**Everyone okay?**

**I Will Come – Alpha Rev**


	35. Ulna and Radius

**Hey party-people! I really love you all and I appreciate you folks taking the time to let me know all about your thoughts and feels:) Last chapter was a trip, I dig. If you're still a little wrecked, I would suggest YouTube-ing Bethany Hamilton and Krystal Cantu; two incredible ladies who inspire me.**

* * *

For Beth, most of the night didn't happen.

Randall and Father Gabriel took turns carrying her. The Fireman's carry was uncomfortable, but practical. She drifted in and out of awareness; in and out of too-damn-drugged-up. She remembered stumbling along, at one point. Probably, they'd asked her if she could walk on her own after they both got too tired. She didn't walk much, she knew that. When the world was still painted with the pale-blue of pre-dawn, she came part-way around, long enough to realize that she was standing on the edge of a road.

Voices talked at her, but she was too groggy to make any sense of it.

Some of the cannibals vanished, only to return in a few minutes with a vehicle that they'd stashed previously, somewhere down the road. She took note of the direction where they were headed, and when none of them were looking, she plucked out a few strands of blonde hair and secured them to the ground with a rock, drawing an arrow.

It all could have been a dream.

She didn't have the will to speak, or to understand the words around her. She tried to collapse to the ground, but someone kept catching her.

It wasn't until dawn that she really woke up.

It was the pain that woke her; pain and shifting. Her whole body rocked, on instinct she tried to lift herself up as her eyes opened and her last properly conscious, panicked seconds came back to her came back like vomit. She pressed one hand into the ground and tried to reach out the other, but the hand that she could still see out of the corner of her eye vanished as her mind adjusted to take in the loss of it. Her stump made contact with the carpeted floor of the moving car and she cried out.

"Shh," someone urged her, a hand that was too frantic to be truly comforting closed on her shoulder. In the dim light, she stared at the damage and the empty air, remembering with painful, loud heartbeats. Her left arm ended at the elbow. It was wrapped and didn't feel like it was bleeding any longer. Someone must have stitched her where she needed it. They gave her drugs too, she could tell from the faraway nature of the pain. It was still there, but it didn't matter like she knew it should. She remembered this sensation from when she'd tried to escape the Termites the first time around.

The hand on her shoulder was dark and heavy. She shied away from it, without really seeing who it belonged to. It took her another few seconds of taking deep breaths and trying not to look at her mutilated arm before she could bring herself to scan her surroundings. She was in the back of an Expedition, rolling along the road. She lifted herself up just enough to see who else was in the car with her. Franco drove with one of the brothers riding shotgun. The other brother was sandwiched between the two girls in the second row of seats.

Instead of a third row, there was just carpet, sticky with sweat and drool. It was where her face had been pressed before she'd awakened. On either side of her were Randall and Father Gabriel, watching her with shared, careful regard.

"Where are we?" she murmured, her throat felt dry.

Sensing the need, Father Gabriel unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and held it up to her chin. She took it gratefully, still staring at him, waiting for him to answer her.

"Not too far from where we… found you," he admitted. "We only rested for a couple of hours and then we decided to push through the night and get back to camp."

"Rested?" she felt an absurd, insane laugh begin to bubble in the back of her throat. "So, you ate and slept for a few hours," the smile slid off her face. She wasn't sure why it had been there in the first place. A strange euphoria had a hold on her. Maybe it was the drugs. "You didn't eat it, did you?" she whispered.

"No," Randall answered for both of them sharply. "We wouldn't…"

"I've never eaten human flesh," said Gabriel in undertone. "I wasn't about to start with _your_ arm." His expression was a strange mixture of rage and pity.

Unable to hold it back any longer, Beth let out a bark of laughter. She could feel the way the car slowed. She must have startled Franco. She covered her mouth to try and stop herself, but more laughter kept coming. Her eyes were filled with tears in seconds. She couldn't tell whether she was screaming in grief or joy, but the chorus of giggling came out in riotous sobs.

"What the _hell_ did you give her?!" she heard one of the brothers shout.

"Would you shut her up?" said the red-headed woman who Franco had called Hilly.

"Beth. Beth, are you alright?" Father Gabriel didn't look annoyed or disturbed, like everyone else in the Expedition did, he looked concerned. As if he thought she'd lost her mind.

"Why are you laughing?!" Randall hissed, eyes wide, wet and deeply troubled.

"'Cause you went and did the dumbest thing," she drew in a cool breath and managed to stifle the last of it.

Daryl was going to _murder_ them.

That is, if eating infected flesh didn't get them first.

"They all ate it?" she breathed, her tears began to dry as she gasped in a breath, "They _ate_ my arm." Eating bitten flesh had to be at least as bad as being bitten.

"Beth, I am _so_ sorry." Father Gabriel's voice broke, "I'm sorry I couldn't _stop it—_"

His apology wearied her. She shook her head, the last of the mirth draining out of her. As tempting as it was to open up the hatchback and roll out onto the road, she knew that was not a viable option. Even if the car wasn't locked, she'd lost blood, she was drugged and they'd caught her hours earlier when she was still in fighting trim. Now she was damaged and unsure. It was too soon to tell how this would affect her. She didn't want it to mean anything.

The pale color of her skin stood out to her. She'd always been pretty white, but this was more than that; sallow, sickly. Just the thought of all that red stuff gushing out of her stumped arm a few hours ago made her stomach lurch, even as the car bounced over the road and her stump throbbed. "I gotta lie down," she put her head in Father Gabriel's lap, covering her eyes with her remaining forearm and tried to swallow the bile that was working its way up her throat. "How long have we been on this road?" it seemed to be a winding journey that they were taking. The road had twisted at least twice since she woke, only a moment ago.

"Just twenty minutes or so. You've been out-of-it, all night."

"We traveled through the woods, back to the car?"

"…Yes," Randall answered in a whisper, he'd leaned over her.

"And now we're heading back to your camp?"

"That's right," they sounded worse than she did. Both of them had tremulous voices and lips that shook. They were taking the loss of her arm worse than she was.

Maybe it was just the drugs keeping her level. Maybe she'd come down from it soon and be a wreck, but for the moment, she felt strangely calm. She hadn't died, when so recently she'd been well aware of what a serious possibility that was. She knew that they still planned to kill her. Hilly, the red-head had said as much.

They wanted Beth to be the first new sacrifice in Terminus II.

They'd rested for a few hours the day before, and their trek back to the car had taken them through the darkest hours. Now the sun was coming up again. The timing was rough, but she was fairly certain that it would have been a while before Daryl and the others came back to the water-tower to get them. Still, he'd had all night to track them.

He had to be close on their heels. Even if he lost the clear trail once they reached the road, they weren't far.

They would find one another.

They would always find one another.

In the mean-time, Beth squeezed her eyes shut and listened, breathing steadily and wondering which one of the Termites would cough first.

It was Hilly.

* * *

With her chin in one hand, Carol watched Bob examine Beth's bones.

"This is her left ulna and radius," he said about the long thin white bones. They were even thinner and more petite than she would have expected. Beth was a small woman. Her bones still looked like a child's bones. Though they were strong; denser than would have been expected. "Daryl said there were smaller bones too, and broken bits… I'd guess she only lost her forearm, otherwise we would have found her humerus." His tone was heavy, but he didn't sound beaten yet.

In some ways, it made Carol feel bitter to see how readily everyone went along with the plan to track Beth down. But she beat the feeling back, hating herself for even thinking it. It was high time she put the past away. All of it.

Everyone except Daryl was in the jeep, rolling slowly after him as he continued to search for tracks in the dark. Maggie and Glenn clung to one another. It was impossible to tell who was more in need of comfort, but it seemed to Carol that they were supporting one another; holding each other upright.

Abraham, Rosita and Eugene were up front, taking turns driving. The others were all clumped together in the back, surrounded by their bounty from Terminus.

No one suggested that they might want to save fuel.

No one suggested that they should stop to rest for the night.

Even Carol didn't want to. She was done making the hard choices. She just wanted to do what was right. Today, the right thing was to find Beth.

And to come clean.

On the far side of the jeep, Rick sat with Sasha and Tyreese on one side. On the other side, Carl had his head resting in Michonne's lap, but he wasn't sleeping. None of them slept.

Pride begged her to wait until she could get Rick alone, but that same part of her that was fighting hard to beat back everything selfish won out, and she approached Rick at a rocky crawl.

He looked up just in time to see her almost lose her balance as the car lurched. He reached out and caught her with one arm, helping her sit down in front of him. From the expression of concern on his face, Carol guessed that Rick already had a pretty good idea of the spirit in which she was coming to him.

"Did he tell you?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Tyreese and Rick exchanged a look, while Sasha's face hardened against Carol's.

"Yeah. He told me," said Rick, his jaw tight, his eyes burning. "You should have said something sooner. To all of us," his eyes flickered around the jeep. "I can't keep doing this with you Carol. You've got to decide whether you're really a part of this group or not. _Decide_ whether or not you ever really came back, after I sent you away."

At that, Michonne's eyes swiveled in their direction, and Carl's head seemed to lift slightly. She didn't want to throw her eyes around the jeep, but she felt certain that everyone was listening. At least they were trying to hear her over the sound of the jeep's engine.

She nodded, watching the trees race by behind Rick's head. "I know." She was starting to get it, like realizing that she'd been walking with chains around her ankles. "I really do."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of it," Rick shook his head, "I'm sorry about Sophie, Mika and Lizzie, I'm sorry about…" his gaze turned away from her. He clenched his jaw again, unable to force the words out, but Carol predicted them.

"I should have forgiven you a long time ago. I tried Rick. I really did. It was never my place to blame you for what happened." She couldn't look him right in the eyes while she admitted this. Try as she might, she kept shrinking, found herself gazing off to one side or another. Most of them could hear her now, her voice had climbed with emotion.

Only Glenn, Maggie and Carl looked like they understood. The rest of the jeep appeared baffled. Carl in particular, met Carol's eyes, his mouth a tight grimace.

"You lost your daughter," Rick managed to choke the words out. "I told her I'd be right back. She said 'don't leave me'."

Carol buried her face in her hands. She knew exactly what that was like now. It was wisdom she didn't want, but she couldn't get rid of it now. It was hers to carry, forever. She couldn't see, but she heard shifting, and felt the car rock a little as someone moved. Carl's hands closed on either shoulder, lifting her up, just enough.

"I miss her too," he said simply.

Oblivious to what was happening in the back of the jeep, Abraham suddenly picked up speed, causing everyone to swing to one side.

Tyreese reached out and caught Carol before she could get hurt, while Rick did the same for Carl, Everyone held onto whatever they could, while the jeep jumbled quickly forward. The trees gave way and the orange light of the sunrise burst through as they leveled out, pulling onto a road.

Daryl stood in the middle of the road, gesturing for them to turn to the left.

"Are we gaining on them?" Maggie asked, momentarily uncurling herself from Glenn to take Daryl's crossbow from him while he climbed into the jeep.

"Yeah," Daryl growled, gesturing to the side of the road. "Found these," he lifted a few strands of long blonde hair for everyone to see, illuminated in the early morning glow, "Next to an arrow scribbled in the dirt. She's showing us the way."

Relief blossomed in Maggie's eyes, "She's alive."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read! Your reviews and feedback mean a lot to me, and it totally does affect the direction I take the story, don't doubt that. I'm not really a confident enough writer yet where I can just do whatever the hell I want and assume people will deal with it. I do totally need help, so never hesitate to tell me what you think. But keep in mind that I do feel strongly about some things. And thanks to everyone who reviews as guests, since I can't reply to you personally, you get public appreciation:) **

**Pompeii – Bastille**


	36. Whiskey

The Expedition peeled off the road and back into the wild, at the same instance that Franco began to cough in earnest. She'd been listening to them pepper the air with barking coughs every few minutes. She could see signs of the fever in the beads of sweat on their foreheads, but none of them seemed to have guessed what had happened to them just yet.

She waited for it, knowing that they might take it out on her.

"You still feel like you're gonna puke?" asked Randall, he was trying to be soothing. He wasn't very good at it, but she appreciated the effort.

"Kinda," she admitted. She wasn't sure whether it was the memory of the pain, the mere knowledge of what had happened to her, or the drugs that they'd given her, but her stomach was upset. The winding pathway toward their camp couldn't possibly be helping.

Father Gabriel offered her another sip of water, but she shook her head, wiping a few beads of sweat off her own forehead with her shaking right hand. She stared at the lines in her palm, unsure whether the light was really bending around her in a new way, or if she was just tripping balls. "You're gonna have to pick up the slack now, you hear me?" she murmured to her own hand.

Tripping balls, probably. From the looks on Father Gabriel and Randall's faces, that was what they were thinking too.

The Expedition rumbled to a stop. A fresh breeze flowed through the car as all four doors opened. It was then that Beth realized it had been stifling hot for the last ten minutes or so. With five people who were starting to run a fever packed in close, it was no wonder.

Father Gabriel opened up the back and jumped down. It was properly cold outside, but the air felt nice on her skin.

"Careful," Randall helped her climb down, careful not to touch her stump as his tentative fingers guided her. "You couldn't manage your own feet too well before."

She still felt weak and her stomach was twisted into a heavy knot in the middle of her, but his offered help proved to be unnecessary. She still had both feet, and pulled out of his reach the second she felt sure of her balance.

"I'm fine," she took another step away from them, as both men reached out to her. She scanned the camp.

Terminus II was a tent-city in the woods. Clearly, they weren't planning to stay here for very long, but they'd done what they could to make it safe in the mean-time. Around the boarder of their little village, they'd dug a shallow moat and fitted the top with what appeared to be a cross-hatch of razor-wire and make-shift spiked implements. It was perfect for keeping walkers from coming any closer… but it wouldn't stop Daryl.

There were about a dozen tents, most of them looked to be five-man or bigger, but she saw a collection of two-man tents somewhat removed from the others. Franco was already ambling towards one of them, with the demeanor of a man who wanted nothing more than to lie down. Still, it seemed like he hadn't guessed precisely how sick he really was.

She saw few other men. Most of the camp was female. Young and female. They were situated in small groups amongst their tents, occupied with chores. Those that didn't have anything to do rose up to greet their returning friends. The two brothers met a small collection of young women part-way into the midst of the camp.

Beth was just wondering where Hilly and the other woman went when she felt someone take a hold of her shoulder and whirled to find the two of them coming up behind her, to stand on either side. "This way," said Hilly staggering an irritated cough.

Father Gabriel pushed Hilly's hand away, "Leave her with us—"

"Excuse me?" Hilly balked at him, holding up both hands in a stance that was deceptively submissive. Beth could see the way her arms tensed, preparing to slap him. "You don't get any say in the matter."

"We can't trust you," said the other woman with a would-be-apologetic shrug. Her heavy eyes were stern on the two men, "You've made your feelings on the matter clear. You might try and help her escape."

"We're not that stupid, Miranda," Randall argued, "She wouldn't last on her own like this—"

"What is the matter with you anyway?" snapped Miranda, "None of this ever bothered you before."

"He's been a whiny little bitch ever since Mary shot his boyfriend," said Hilly in undertone to her friend. Her eyes swiveled shamelessly over to Randall, going hard, "We've all lost people. Man up."

Randall's face flooded with purple rage, through his lips, there was a thin sliver of pink visible between his teeth. He was literally biting his own tongue. Hard, by the looks of his shaking jaw.

"What are you going to do with her?" Father Gabriel glared at them, his hands shaking as they curled into fists. "Tie her up like an animal?"

"Yeah, actually," said Hilly with a laugh that turned into a cough. Maybe it was just Beth's imagination but she did seem to have a split-second of concern cross her face as she raised the back of her wrist to her mouth. "And if you keep on like this, you'll be right there with her. We're starting over. We'll need another sacrifice soon. Are you volunteering?"

Father Gabriel wasn't cowed by her words.

Randall on the other hand, glared at her, his eyebrows dipping low. "That's an empty threat. He's the closest we've got to a doctor."

"He's no good to us if he isn't _really_ one of us," Hilly grabbed Beth's shoulder again and dragged her into the middle of the camp.

They didn't have train-cars this time, or, it appeared, any accommodations for prisoners, but they worked quickly to amend that. In the middle of the camp, with all the tents circling her, Beth was made to sit on the ground while the brothers drove a heavy stake into the ground. Around the stake they fixed a long chain. Miranda tightened one handcuff loop onto her left ankle and fitted the end of the chain through the other link. Beth watched the key disappear into her pocket.

She sat cross-legged in the dirt, winding the chain through the dirt with her remaining hand, twisting it and untwisting it up her arm and watching it turn in the dirt like a snake. From the looks of the camp, the infection would be devastating. It didn't seem like they had many Killers among them.

There were a few other men about Randall's size, who looked to share his attitude as well. She'd noticed them staring at her when she first arrived, but now they were pointedly looking away, heads bent.

Aside from a couple of bruisers patrolling the perimeter, they were a small city of Mothers. She had a feeling that most of this particular group of Terminus survivors had gotten out either because they had made a cowardly run early on, been 'rescued', or they were like Franco, Randall and the two brothers and had been on the right side of the fences when all hell broke loose.

Father Gabriel took his nearly-empty pack into one of the five-man tents and returned in minutes with it stuffed to the brim. He settled down beside her, mouth a grim line as he gestured to her bandaged stump. It hadn't been that long, but the trek through the woods hadn't been good for the gauze. He wanted to change them already. Beth took note of the dirt, the blood seeping through and the ragged edge and tentatively reached the stump out as far as she could towards him.

She looked away while he unwrapped the wound, chewing on the inside of her lip.

"How's your pain?"

"'bout a seven."

"I can give you some more meds now—" he stopped talking when he saw her shaking her head.

"Just painkillers this time, thanks," she specified. "I'm still seein' some unnatural lights."

Father Gabriel removed the last of the bandage and Beth finally looked. She shouldn't have. Her stomach wrung inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, took a slow breath then opened them again. The second time was almost worse, but she didn't shudder and look away this time. It was her now. It was part of who she was.

"I've also got this," he opened the bag so that she could see the tiny baggy of green herb.

She blinked at it, and for an uneasy moment wasn't certain. Then she was. Beth laughed, "No thanks." It was a bad time to sacrifice any of her senses or judgment. "You know, this is actually the first time I've ever been offered pot," she reflected with a smile, "And you're a priest," she added with another short chuckle.

Father Gabriel raised and lowered one shoulder, apologetically closing the bag. "The world _did_ end."

"I'm seein' whiskey in there too. Runnin' short on proper medical supplies already?" she raised an eyebrow at her. "Daryl said the vet's office was cleaned out."

In surprise, Father Gabriel opened and closed his mouth. "He went _back_?"

She nodded, "He went scavenging in your little no-name town. Saw the church."

Grimly, Father Gabriel worried the fresh gauze in his hands. It didn't look like there was much left. Glancing around the camp, she could see various battle-scars in different stages of healing. He set the gauze down and pulled the whiskey out. She held her stump out so he could wash it. "After you and Daryl left, Randall and I were alone for a couple of days. We were getting somewhere, he and I. Could have been alright on own, but then Franco, Miranda and another man," he glanced around, found who he was looking for, "Brock," he cocked his head towards one of the bruisers she'd noticed earlier. A large man with a heavy, dark beard and gauze-wrapped hands. "They came looking for supplies and found us. Randall wanted to leave with them… I tried to talk him out of it. No one was listening. Franco's the maniac who set fire to the church. I don't think he liked some of what I had to say about his people."

She could imagine. The wound stung so bad when the alcohol touched it that her vision momentarily went spotty. She tried not to whimper, but didn't manage to hold it back. Nodding, she mouthed that she was okay and looked up at the sky.

Father Gabriel started to wrap the gauze around her stump. "It was messy for a minute, but in the end, Randall managed to convince them to let me live, take me captive, really." He finished securing the gauze in place and took a swig of whiskey.

"You ain't givin' her any of the good stuff are you?" a deep voice accused from behind Beth's back. "No point wastin' supplies on a dead girl."

She craned her neck back and found one of the brothers. He already looked bad, his face was sickly pale and the thin skin around his eyes was stained with a purple tint that hadn't been there earlier. He'd missed one night of sleep, so maybe no one would think anything of it, but soon enough, the fever would be undeniable.

"I'm making sure that wound doesn't get infected," Father Gabriel got to his feet and stared him down, "It's the least I can do."

The brother glared down at her and snorted, "I 'spose that's reasonable. Don't wanna be gnawing on necrotizin' flesh."

"Yeah, that'd be _awful_," Beth met his gaze and didn't shrink.

He must have seen some flicker of dark humor in her eyes, because his brow lowered ever so slightly before he turned away, pointedly ignoring her. "My brother and I aren't feelin' too hot. You got anything in there to take the edge off?"

"I'll look through our supplies," said Father Gabriel coldly. "But keep in mind you've both been on your feet all night. Get some rest and come see me when you wake up," he added in a grumble.

As he walked away, Beth caught Father Gabriel's hand to get his attention. "I wouldn't waste anything on them; dead men walking."

With a sigh, Father Gabriel crouched down. "That's what they're saying about _you_."

"I know. I heard. I'm gonna live. They're not."

The confidence in her voice gave him pause. His eyes took in the cover and the boarder of their little camp. "Your man's coming?"

She held his gaze steadily and nodded. "You'll probably wanna stay outta sight when he does. Same goes for Randall. 'Till I can explain, he'll figure you were part of it, just the same. Put a bolt through your skull. Can't say I blame him," she admitted.

Father Gabriel paled slightly at that and swallowed hard, but with a small nod he murmured, "Fair 'nough. No hard feelings if he does." With that, he left her alone in the dirt.

On her own, Beth considered trying to dig at the ground around the stake. It was planted too deep in hard soil. She wouldn't be able to work quickly enough with just one hand. Her fingers would be bloody and filthy—and more importantly she would have drawn attention to what she was trying to do—long before she made any headway to dig it out.

Most of the time, however, there were eyes on her. She couldn't stand this waiting, but she also couldn't think of anything to do besides cry or futilely dig at the stake in the ground. She needed something to do, something to keep her mind occupied. With a sigh, she started to untangle her hair with her one hand. It had gotten pretty bad during the last day since she'd tried to do any kind of grooming.

Before the apocalypse, she liked to keep her hair 'goddess long' as her mother once called it. That kind of length wasn't practical anymore, but she'd never been able to bring herself to cut it _very_ short. She weaved her fingers through the tangles and slowly began to try and divide it in three sections.

Braiding her hair with one hand proved to be tricky. She thought she was starting to get it, when a girl approached her. She saw her feet first, turned in and attached to thin ankles.

Her hands twisting tentatively in front of her, "Do you want some help with your hair?" she asked in a small voice.

Beth took her time to look up at the girl's face. When she did, she beheld a fearful, earnest expression; a ski-jump nose, pubescent lips and soft eyes framed by sandy brown hair.

"I could braid it for you," she offered, awkwardly reaching behind her back to get a comb out of her pocket. She held it out; a question in her eyes.

Without saying anything, Beth turned away from the stake, so there would be just enough room for the girl to sit down behind her and get to her hair.

Light fingers worked their way carefully through the last of the knots in Beth's yellow hair. She leaned her head back as she felt her beginning to plait her hair into a French-braid.

"What's your name?" asked the girl.

"Beth Greene. What's yours?"

"Sophie."

She wasn't sure why, but the name rung in her mind. She ignored the nagging feeling that she ought to remember a Sophie. It was probably just her mind trying to recall someone named Sophie from before the world ended. They didn't speak again until she'd finished her braid, tying the end of it with her own elastic. "Looks good," said Sophie quietly as she scooting back around, holding onto her ankles and resting her chin on top of her knees.

"How old are you?" Beth glanced around to make sure that no one was close enough to hear them speak.

"Fifteen," said Sophie, "You?"

"Eighteen. Were you a Mother at Terminus?"

"How did you know about that?" Sophie knitted her brow, a sparkle of fear finding place in her eyes.

"They wanted me to be a Mother, but I was too _recalcitrant_." She shifted so that her stumped arm was between them, "So, they found another use for me."

Sophie's eyes went wide and they shifted to stare openly at her arm for a moment. She swallowed. "I don't wanna be with them," she said rapidly, in a frantic whisper. "The people I was with before were good—but _these_ people. I'd run if I could. I don't like this at all. It makes me sick—what they did to you… what they're gonna do."

"Do a lot of the other girls feel this way?"

Sophie nodded. "Before, we were at this other place, but then there were walkers and _guns_—Hector and Miranda came and took a few of us. We all hate them… We don't wanna die." Her lip was trembling.

"Sophie, it's alright," Beth held onto her hand, squeezing it tight. "It's going to be alright."

Sophie swallowed, then nodded. "I wanna believe that."

"It is."

The girl looked at the ground, hugging her arms tighter around her knees until Beth let go of her hand.

"Sophie, can you do something for me?"

The girl glanced up at her, fear still dancing in her eyes. She shrugged, leaving her shoulders up high, as if trying to hide her head like a turtle.

"I need you to tell me about who's here. Everyone who's part of your camp."

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanna know who deserves to live."

* * *

**Breathe Me - Sia**


	37. Lessons in Guerilla Warfare

Staying close to the ground, Daryl crawled until he was right up against the moat. A line of razor-wire, cut through his view into the camp and a collection of found sharp objects pointed threateningly at his eyes. Past the little weaponized forest, he could see into the tent city that the tracks had led them to find. Airing on the side of caution, Rick and most of the others had turned the jeep off and waited a good distance away. They didn't want anyone to hear them approach. Daryl continued with only Abraham, Rosita and Carol.

They're orders were to scope the situation out and then come back so they could make a plan of attack.

That wasn't going to happen.

His eyes found Greene in the exact middle of their camp, tethered to a stake by a chain. The kind someone might have used to tie up an especially vicious dog, once upon a time. The second he saw her alive, it was like he was finally able to take his first breath in days.

There was no way he was going anywhere until she was free.

"She looks good. Better than can be expected," said Carol. He felt her hand on his shoulder, but didn't turn to look at her. Beth did look good. Pale, but her back was straight, her head up. She'd somehow found the time to do something new with her hair. She was strong, she'd get through this.

He couldn't get a good view of her stumped arm, but thought he could make out the white of fresh gauze. A surge of loss coursed through him. That was a hand he'd held and kissed, a hand that had caressed him and comforted him. He'd loved that hand. Daryl searched the edges of the moat for the best place to climb through.

"Well—she's upright, at least," Rosita made a face. Abraham shot her a look of disapproval that she shrugged off.

"Unless everyone's hiding in their tents, I'd say this is a pretty spare group. Just a handful of men," said Abraham.

"Don't underestimate the women," Rosita suggested with a smirk that Abraham returned.

"I recognize some of these girls. They were in the Mother House at Terminus," there was a tremor in Carol's voice, "Tyreese was right," she said in barely more than a whisper. "I'll go back—I'll get the others," she started to sidle backwards in the dirt.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Abraham hissed at her, "We're _all_ going back."

"He's not," said Rosita, cocking her head at Daryl.

Carol almost smiled at that and met Daryl's eyes, "No. He's not."

"They're right—I'm goin' in now. I ain't gonna let her stay chained up like that."

"We should stick around," suggested Rosita, patting Abraham on the shoulder. "Maybe you can pay him back for saving your life that time," she added innocently.

"The _three_ of us against their entire camp?"

"It'll be fun."

"I'll bring backup, quick as I can," Carol promised, "_Don't_ get yourselves killed, that won't do Beth or anyone, any good." She made to leave them, but froze as the snap of branches at their back alerted their attention.

Trapped between the camp and some unknown threat in the woods, the four of them pulled together, staying as quiet as possible as they tried to slither into the underbrush.

"Where in this unholy hell did you get it?" asked a voice just yards away from them in the trees.

"Swiped it from the preacher man's bag when he was talkin' to Franco 'bout fifteen minutes ago. I spied him offerin' it to Miss Piggy, if you can believe it."

"Ought to be a killin' offense," muttered the first voice. They both chuckled darkly.

Risking a quick glance around the trunk between them, Daryl got a look at the two familiar faces; the dicks who'd sat on either side of him when he and Beth had been dragged off to be walker food, just a few weeks earlier. They settled into the dirt, one of them focusing on his hands as he tried to roll a joint.

_A shame to kill a man in front of his brother. A damn shame._

The bolt left Daryl's crossbow with an exhale. It found its place right through the first brother's skull. The joint fell from his fingertips and he was slumped in the dirt, before his brother could blink or scream.

Abraham had acted just as quickly, apparently able to anticipate what Daryl was going to do. He lunged at the remaining Termite, taking him to the ground with a hand pressing hard into his mouth. He tried to cry out, but it came out as a grief-stricken groan. "What if we just take him back as a hostage? Offer an exchange?"

Stepping forward, Daryl pulled his bolt from the other brother's skull, "Nope." He said grimly, "Rick tried takin' a Termite hostage first thing. His own people shot him in the head. They ain't reasonable 'nough for any kinda _diplomacy_." With that, he strung his crossbow, reloaded and aimed right between the Termite's eyes. "Don't merit it, neither."

Abraham let go of the Termite's head and jumped back. A shout barely escaped the man's throat before the bolt came to an abrupt stop in his head.

The forest shuddered around them.

"You think they heard that?" Rosita grimaced, hands coming down from her own ears, her gun clutched in one fist.

"Hopin' so," Daryl shrugged and bent over to reload his bow again, "Best thing that could happen right now is they send a few more assholes out here to check on things. They keep wandering off into the woods—it's gonna be downright easy picking 'em off. It's dangerous out here."

* * *

Beth heard the shout. Collectively, the camp's attention shifted towards the boarder.

_'Walker?'_ she saw one of the girl's mouth to her companions, her eyes wide.

Miranda appeared in the doorway of her tent, looking mildly interested, but mostly haggard and annoyed. "Hey—Gordon, Pike, go see—" she stifled a hacking cough, "Go check. Take your knives, idiots," she waved away two of the men hanging out by the largest tent.

As the two men made their way around the moat and out into the forest, Miranda watched them, her shoulders getting heavy as her neck bent. The fever had hit her. There were beads of sweat wetting her dark hairline. She clumsily turned about, facing a group of three young girls patching up a couple of jackets or else keeping the workers company. "Seen the priest? Hilly and I feel like shit."

One of the girls pointed and started to reply in a mild voice that Beth could make out from the distance. Father Gabriel wasn't right close by, that much was clear. Miranda looked annoyed as she turned to fetch him.

The second that Miranda was out of sight, Sophie appeared, peering cautiously from behind a tent, she was holding onto one of the bandaged hands of the large man who the priest had pointed out to her earlier. Brock. With an inward sigh, Beth realized that she probably couldn't have been more obvious as she led him over to her.

Brock at least, seemed to realize that they looked suspicious. He took his hand back from her and motioned for Sophie to go sit with the other girls. She thought she saw his lips form the words, '_don't look over at us'_.

Sophie nodded vigorously before she scampered off.

Brock looked much more relaxed as he closed the distance between them without Sophie hanging onto him. He hunkered down in the dirt with her, his heavily bandaged hands settling on his knees.

"Sophie said I should talk to you," he had a particular accent that she couldn't quite place, but her first impression was that he was from somewhere out west. Maybe he'd been away from home at the time of the turn and gotten stuck in Georgia. Maybe he'd been traveling since the world ended. She wanted to know his story, but there were more important things right now.

"Sophie says you weren't with this group 'til a week ago. You joined them _after _their whole mess at Terminus."

He nodded, "I was following the tracks; heading there with my daughters. When we arrived, it was filled with dead and burned out. We ran into Franco and the others while they were on a run. Joined up. I didn't know what I'd gotten into at the time."

"Now you do?"

Grimly, his eyes swiveled to her arm. He looked like he was going to throw up on her. Beth took a preventative scoot away.

"I'd leave—I would, but I'm hurt. There are _so many_ girls. Some babies too. I can't protect them all by myself. And my youngest is sick. She can't go anywhere." He shook his head, "This isn't me. There are more of us who feel the same way. We're going to talk to Franco. We won't let them hurt you anymore."

His tone was too confident, too naïve. She doubted that he'd truly considered what his leaders were, or what they would do to him if he tried to stand up to them. All the same, Beth nodded, looking him over from the toes up and trying not to give away that she thought he might be an idiot. "Sophie likes you. She says that all the girls like you. You're nice to them. You've tried to protect them."

Underneath his thick black beard, his mouth was a frown. His chin dipped downwards as his gaze hit the dirt. "_Tried _being the operative word."

"Wanna succeed?"

He looked up at her with understandable suspicion.

"Sophie says I can trust you… and, I guess you're gonna figure it out soon enough anyway. Everyone who came back with me, except Randall and Gabriel, are all gettin' the fever."

At that declaration, Brock froze, seemed to even stop breathing all at once.

"_The_ fever," she said for emphasize, though she knew that he understood her perfectly. "If they turn and you ain't prepared, innocent people could die. You say there are a few other guys like you? Great. Get them, and stop this before anyone else dies."

"How did this happen?" He came to his senses with a jerk, glaring incredulously at her.

"Apparently, that's what you get when you eat infected flesh."

He blinked and she could tell that he was taking a long time to pick apart what she'd said, repeating it back to himself silently to make she he'd heard her right. "They _ate_…"

She was right. He hadn't really understood who they were. She wondered how many other people in the camp had been oblivious. "Saved my life," she said passionlessly. "Not that it was their intention…Why did you _think_ they chained me up like this?"

"We asked but they just said…" he trailed off, face turning red, no doubt whatever lie they'd told or excuse they'd given sounded pretty thin when he tried to say it out-loud. He stuttered over a new hissed thought, and finally said, "Are you sure—?"

"I'm sure. They're pretty much dead already. The rest of you might be too," She looked around the camp, eyes getting snagged on woman holding a baby that looked a little younger than Judith. "I don't want that. So, you gotta protect them."

Brock swallowed, his eyes found Franco's tent and he paled.

"It's actually simple," said Beth in a whisper.

Slowly Brock rose up to his feet and nodded his head, "Yeah. Guess it is."

His shoulders were more rounded, his head lower than when Sophie had first brought him forward, but aside from that, she didn't think he'd given himself away. They'd only spoken for a moment. No one had taken notice of them besides a few of the girls who Beth suspected would keep quiet about their exchange.

Miranda and Hilly reappeared with the Priest in tow. He led them to his tent and the two women waited outside. They looked more miserable than ever, their expressions beginning to reflect genuine concern. Hilly in particular, was a mess. Her red hair was shining with sweat. She'd stripped off her outer layers so she was only wearing a thin tank-top, but she was clearly still cooking her own skin.

A sickening noise drew her attention to the smaller tents behind her back. It was the sound of someone hacking until they finally gagged. With difficultly, Franco pulled the door of his tent open and stumbled out. During just the hour since they'd dragged her into camp, his condition had worsened. His face was gaunt and bloodless, his eyes, throat and lips swelled. He looked like someone had just dosed him in water.

Once he was in the midst of the camp, his eyes fell on Hilly and Miranda. He strode purposefully towards them, kicking viciously at the dirt beside Beth as he passed her, making her jump. His face was twisted with anger, but none of it was directed at her, yet. He coughed to announce himself.

Both Hilly and Miranda looked at him with grim faces, understanding how he was feeling. Two of the bruisers who were probably supposed to be patrolling the boarder of the camp set their riffles against their shoulders and approached to see what the matter was.

Randall was the last to join them, though he stayed back a few paces; the suspicion on his face was clear. He glanced in Beth's direction and met her eyes, but if he had guessed yet, what was wrong with his leaders, he didn't say anything. His mouth stayed shut tight, even while his eyes questioned her.

She wasn't close enough to hear precisely what they were saying, but she did catch one phrase from Father Gabriel, "…_You three need to get off your feet."_

She watched them all talking, straining to pick up more snippets. Out of the corner of her eye a little movement in the trees brought her head around. Uneasily, she scanned the camp and realized that while she'd been watching them, every single girl in camp had vanished.

She wasn't sure whether they'd gone into their tents, or if they'd actually left the grounds entirely, but the little tent-city was suddenly a ghost town. Twisting around as far as she could to check the last blind spot, Beth found Brock with two other men, severe looks of determination on their faces.

The pieces were set. There was nothing left to do now but watch how it would play out. Beth wound the chain up her arm, gripping it tight and chewing on the inside of her lip.

Brock must have decided against delicacy and tact, because he only managed to say two words and already someone was yelling.

_"It's not the fever—it's just a stupid cold, we all caught it!"_ Hilly's voice grew higher in pitch as she got defensive. The two bruisers jumped in to defend her, putting themselves bodily between Hilly and Brock.

Brock held up his bandaged hands, seemingly in submission, except she heard him say, "I'm sorry, alright. You can choose if you want a bullet to the head now or—"

"IT'S NOT THE FEVER!" Miranda shrieked.

Soon, the scene had dissolved into total chaos, so she couldn't pluck a single word from the tumult—besides the occasional expletive. There were only three people who hadn't joined in yet. Randall, who was still staring at Beth through the writhing bodies around him, Father Gabriel who seemed to be at a total loss and Franco, who's silence frightened Beth most of all.

His back was to her, his head down, his back lifted and sunk steadily as he breathed so heavily that she could see it, even with the distance between them.

Guns were always visible, but suddenly they danced in every hand.

This was going to get bloody.

Most of them were lifted, barrels shifting towards their perceived enemy of the moment, some, like Father Gabriel and Brock, had drawn their guns out of precaution, but hadn't raised them. They were still trying to reason with the group. That wasn't going to work.

The only person who hadn't drawn their gun yet was Franco. She watched him turn around to face her from across the camp, eyes hard and bloodshot from the fever. She heard the first gunshot go off, but didn't see who caught the bullet. Two bodies hit the dirt, but she couldn't make out anything through the crowd.

Franco hadn't even flinched from the noise. His eyes were fixed on her with murderous fury. Without a backwards glance at the eruption of chaos behind him, Franco broke away, making a b-line towards her.

Still, he didn't draw his gun, or the machete that she already knew too well. She only had the space of a panicked heartbeat to decide what was going on in his dying brain, as it cooked in its own fluids.

He knew he was a dead man, and that nothing could change that.

But first, he was going to beat her to death.

* * *

**Be Good – Emily Kinney**


	38. Hope and Love

Daryl Dixon was covered in blood. He knew how to hunt, kill and skin animals without spattering himself with all that red stuff, but he couldn't manage to take revenge cleanly. It wasn't the same thing; not the same kind of killing. They'd made short work of the two men who came to check out what that first scream of impending death had been about.

With cut throats and holes in their heads, they were two less problems to worry about when they took the camp. Carol had slipped away to gather the cavalry, and from the looks of things, they might actually need them. They'd killed four men, but there were at least a dozen more.

"We could just wait a while longer," suggested Rosita in a voice that sounded like she already knew that it wasn't going to happen. "Eventually more will come out here to see what became of their buddies."

Abraham was the closest to the boarder, tucked low into the dirt so that he could have a safe vantage point into enemy territory. Rosita was at the exact halfway point between where Abraham was hunkered down and where Daryl was dragging the bodies out of sight. "Somethin' is going on at the camp," Abraham didn't bother to keep his voice down.

Daryl could hear raised voices. He dropped the arms of the body he'd been dragging and darted to Abraham's side, Rosita kept pace with him so they hit the dirt in the same instant.

Inside the camp, something was clearly going down. An armed assortment of angry Termites were beginning to get into heated conversation with one another. They were standing too close to one another—Daryl was all too familiar with t kind of posturing, it was only a matter of seconds before someone threw the first punch or fired the first shot. Meanwhile, Beth was folded in the dirt, watching the scene from the other side.

There was urgency in Abraham's voice next he spoke, clearly, he could tell somehow that Daryl was getting anxious to get his girl back and end this, "Rosita and I will come at them from—" it proved to be pointless to try and rush through making a plan. Gunblast rang in Daryl's ears and all he saw was Franco, big, angry and running straight for Beth.

"BETH!" he lunged to the boarder, slipping under the razor-wire, even as Abraham and Rosita both failed to hold him back.

Even while maneuvering around the traps and jagged snares made of found objects, he saw the whole thing, powerless to help her from this distance.

When Franco got within a few feet of her, she sprang up and threw her chain into his face, drawing it back quickly like a whip. He fell back into the dirt, one hand cupping his bloodied cheek and lip. She swung it around once to build up momentum and then sent it flying into his head again—it hit, but she didn't draw back quickly enough this time and he grabbed a handful of links, tugging her into the dirt and dragging her underneath him.

Daryl heard her screaming as he scrambled up the other side of the moat. He was cut—he'd gotten snagged on a couple of the spikes, but he barely took note of it, his focus was entirely on the girl, his own pain was meaningless. He barely registered the chaos of the fight that was between them. More gunshots were exploding around the campsite; people were hitting the ground like thrown dolls. He ran straight past the battle, fast as he could.

Franco was on mounted top of Beth, holding her remaining arm above her head, while the other pressed into her throat. Tracks of red leaking from his sliced cheek, one eye and his nose, "_I ain't gonna ugly up your face, bitch!"_ Franco shouted, "_I'll grind your bone—bust you open and get you nice and bloody to turn and then I'll leave you here, a chained-up corpse that can't even crawl—"_ the instant that he gave any slack against her throat, she jerked her head forward and bit down on his hand. She clamped down hard and gnawed.

He ripped his hand out of her mouth and raised it above his head. His fingers curling into a fist at the same moment that Daryl plowed into him, shoving him face-first into the dirt beside Beth.

Some men have to pause before they get into a fight, neither Daryl, nor Franco, where like that; the second that Daryl laid his hands on him, Franco was swinging back. Beth scrambled out of the way, giving Daryl the exact amount of room he needed to catch Franco's arm and send him reeling into the ground. He didn't give him any space to get to his feet—his boot connected with his head in a devastating stomp, white teeth stained red bounced into the dirt. His other knee connected with his chest and Daryl let all his weight press right on top of Franco. Three more blows to his face with each fist and he stopped moving.

Tears were streaming from Beth's perfect eyes, cutting pale lines through the tracks of dust and dirt. She was shaking so badly that she could barely hold herself upright. It looked like she was trying to say something to him, but suddenly he couldn't hear anything above the sustained ring from gunblast noise, and the painful throbbing that started in his chest and beat against his head. His heart was still furious and broken. All he could think was that he was too late. He'd tried his best, but it wasn't enough, his arms were stained red up to the elbows, he was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

He'd done everything he could for her, but it wasn't a worthy effort. She deserved so much better. His eyes found her bandaged stump and the damn broke. Weeping, he gathered her into a trembling embrace.

The dust-up amongst the Termites had ended as quickly as it started. They had all put their weapons on the ground and were holding their hands in the air. The cavalry had arrived just in time. Carol stood with Rick, Tyreese, Michonne, Maggie and Glenn, out of breath and with guns on the Termites.

"You here for the girl?!" a large man with his hands wrapped in gauze motioned to Beth, "Here to rescue her?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Rick, the way he was surveying the lot of them suggested that just because they had surrendered immediately, he wasn't necessarily going to let them live.

"Only a few of us had anything to do with it," said Brock firmly, "She can tell you herself, we're just—" he stopped talking as he gestured to where Beth and Daryl were still tangled together.

Daryl pulled back, holding Beth's face in his hands, he brushed the moisture off her cheeks, "I couldn't… I couldn't protect you."

"You did," Beth kissed him firmly, "You _did_. You protected me. You saved me."

But he was shaking his head, face twisted in grief. His neck bent and he hid his face in her chest, clinging to her waist with both bloodied hands.

For several long seconds, no one spoke. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the camp on them, but Daryl didn't care. All that mattered was the woman holding onto him, trying to soothe him. He tried to get a hold of himself, for her sake, but the moment he shifted his weight he knocked the chain against the ground. Gripping it, he followed the links up to the handcuffs on her ankle, "Gotta get this _damn_ thing off," he growled, "Where's the key?" He rose unevenly to his feet, "Hand it over!" he shouted towards the Termites without facing them.

Father Gabriel walked up to Miranda and held out his hand, palm up.

With a defeated snarl, Miranda pulled the handcuff key out of her pocket and dropped it into the priest's waiting hand.

Daryl met him halfway and snatched the key.

Once he'd delivered the key, Father Gabriel risked Rick's wrath, stepping towards him with both hands raised, "Let me get her boots," he offered mildly and turned slowly towards one of the tents.

Rick nodded, giving permission, but turned and made eye-contact with Michonne. Understanding the message, she stepped forward, katana at his back to escort him over to his tent where he'd put her boots when they tied her up.

Sinking to the ground, Daryl unfastened the cuff from Beth's ankle.

"Rick…" Maggie said between her teeth, her hands shook even as she did her best to hold her gun steady on the Termites.

"Go on," Rick nodded her away.

Still keeping her gun raised, Maggie sidled quickly over to Beth and Daryl then pulled her sister close.

Father Gabriel brought Beth her boots. As Daryl helped her put them back on he watched Rick open negotiations with the Termites.

"You can just go," said the large man with the bandaged hands. "Everyone who had anything to do with it is already marked for death, or dead," he nodded at Franco's motionless body. His face was practically undefinable as a face after the abuse it had suffered. "They have the fever," he pointed to the two women, ashen and with their lips and throats swollen with sickness.

"They're bit?" Michonne demanded.

"No," said the man with the bandaged hands, "They uh… consumed flesh, that was infected." He glanced at Beth.

Daryl and Maggie both had an arm around her, holding her up. Her weight was leaning into him, like all she wanted was to collapse into his arms. She forced herself to raise her head and nodded, "It's true," she said in a soft voice. "They're dying."

Rattled and still processing what they were implying, Daryl didn't get the chance to flinch or swear before two more gunshots erupted in the air around them. He drew back, clutching to Beth who'd also jumped at the suddenly violence. It was over in an instant.

The two women had matching holes in their heads. It had been quick. He doubted they even had enough time to really process that they were going to die. Their bodies lay where they fell, next to the three others that had been killed during the initial dust-up.

Maggie and Rick both had their guns raised. They'd each shot whichever woman was closer to them.

The rest of the Termites were a pathetic, quaking lot, either kneeling with their hands over their ears or else they'd taken on Father Gabriel's submissive stance, hands out, eyes pleading. "Alright. That's fair," said Father Gabriel evenly. "Can we please have a _rational_ discussion about what you're going to do now?"

As the negotiations and explanations started to trickle out, Daryl felt his breathing finally begin to slow. His heart still ached within him, the pulsing pain increased with every beat, but she was so close to him now, pressed right up against his chest, he could forget himself and think instead about her heartbeat, fluttering but strong. She was alive.

"Where is everyone else?" murmured Beth, she shook as she tried to rise up on her toes in order to reach his ear.

He leaned into her, as deep as he could while still keeping one eye sideways on their enemies, "Fine. Safe. 'Cept probably Glenn."

"Probably?" her shoulders sank as she pressed tighter against him, gripping the front of his vest with her remaining hand, she turned her head she got her first good look at Glenn. "Oh, _no_," she murmured, hiding her face in his arm.

Glenn was still upright, but the fever had taken a hold of him. Daryl was fairly certain he could guess what had happened to bring him into the thick of the fight. Maggie couldn't stay behind while the others went to rescue her sister, and Glenn couldn't leave Maggie. He didn't look weak, but his color was all wrong and he was as soaked with sweat as either of the corpses who'd just been executed. Even as Daryl watched him, he saw his eyes flicker over to their motionless bodies. "He's fighin'. It wasn't deep… maybe…" he tightened his hold on his girl and didn't finish the thought.

Movement from the corner of his eyes got his attention and Daryl stiffened. Beth must have felt it because she looked up as well. On the far side of the camp, one of the tent doors was opening. A small figure peered out with wide, cautious eyes; checking that the coast was clear.

"That must be where the girls hid," Beth starting towards the tent, keeping a hold on Daryl's bloody hand. "It's alright—come out," she sounded so tired.

Momentarily, Daryl was overcome with the urge to sweep her up into her arms and just walk away with her, take her somewhere that she could lie down and sleep in quiet and safety. Bitterly and with an extra dose of fear he gave place to a voice that said there wasn't anywhere like that in all the world.

A dozen young girls poured out of the tent. It looked like more besides where still hiding inside. Only the bold ones dared to come and join the heated discussion in their camp.

Everyone fell silent when they noticed the girls, warily making their way into the middle of camp.

"Carol? Ty?" her voice was so mild and distant that Daryl barely heard her speak. She was jumbled into the center of the dozen weak, frightened girls. She broke away from them and sprinted straight to Carol and Tyreese.

"Sophie!" Tyreese met her partway and threw his arms around her, scooping her up off the ground.

For the first time that Daryl could remember, Carol put her gun down, though danger was still an imminent possibility. She was on her knees, on the ground, face stricken and unable to say a word, when Sophie jumped down from Tyreese's arms and ran to embrace her as well.

"Is this everyone?" Rick scanned the camp, gun still at the ready, in case more Termites crawled out from the cracks to start a fight.

"We're uh… it looks like we're still missing four of our men," said Father Gabriel.

"No you ain't," Daryl growled. He pulled away from Beth, just long enough to hold up his red hands for them to see.

Father Gabriel's eyebrows flew up towards his forehead, casting his gaze to the ground he only nodded and said quietly, "Then yes. This is all of us, minus a couple of women hiding in the tents. I think you'll understand if they'd rather not come out."

"And you'll understand if we search the camp before we go," said Rick.

"Please Rick, can we get her outta here?" Maggie sounded distraught. Her beautiful face was puffy and exhausted from crying, but she still had her gun raised, still looked ready to keep killing if it was called for.

"Glenn, Maggie, guide Daryl and Beth back to the others," Rick conceded with a nod. "We'll stay and sort this out."

The Termites were baffled and their numbers decimated. Aside from the timid girls who'd been hiding in the tent, there were only six men left who didn't look like they'd suffered any injury. There were bodies on the ground and they'd already dropped their weapons. Rick, Michonne, Tyreese, Carol, Abraham and Rosita were well equipped to handle anything that they might try and pull.

Usually, Daryl thought he was pretty good at reading what Rick was thinking, what he was going to do, but today he felt scrambled and battered by everything he'd done and everything he'd feared. He couldn't tell whether Rick was still suspicious of them or not. If he did decide to kill everyone who'd raised a gun against him, what would happen to the girls? He shook himself, and turned his back to the camp, Rick wasn't cruel. He'd make sure they were taken care of. Daryl only had one girl to worry about right now, "Come on," he scooped Beth up into both arms as Glenn and Maggie fell into step beside them.

To his surprise, Beth giggled. She sounded beat, "I still got both feet, you know."

"Don't matter—you're gonna rest now."

"Hmm, twist my arm," she pecked him on the cheek and gave him the smile he'd missed so much, and that for one terrible moment he thought he'd lost.

* * *

**Set Fire to the Third Bar – Snow Patrol**


	39. Fear and Rage

A bump in the road woke Beth with an uncomfortable jolt. It was pitch-black and she could feel the jeep rolling to a stop. From the sleepy, yet anxious expressions on the faces around her, she suspected that they were stopping for a bathroom break. There were enough of them and they had enough fuel that they weren't planning to stop more than they absolutely needed to. Sleeping in the crowded back of the jeep was rough, but they would power-through as long as they could stand it.

She'd fallen asleep in Daryl's arms. Across from them, Maggie was holding onto Glenn as he fought the fever. It had been two days. As far as anyone could remember, they'd never seen someone last this long. He didn't seem as out-of-it as bite-victims usually were. He still walked around and could carry on conversations. She'd even heard him make a joke yesterday. It gave everyone hope. During one of their previous breaks, Bob had admitted to Beth that he had initially reassured everyone that Glenn might survive _only_ to compel them to keep moving, he hadn't really believed it. Glenn's immune system had already taken a bad hit, just a matter of weeks earlier, but he'd surprised the doctor.

Still, everyone was tense. They didn't talk much. Each one was wrapped in their own thoughts and since there was little better to do, half the group was almost always at least trying to fall asleep. With the winding road underneath them, mounds of stolen supplies around them and their heads full of horror, it wasn't easy, but Beth had finally managed to snag a few precious hours.

Carol and Tyreese sat with Sophie between them. It turned out that when she wasn't transformed into a bundle of nerves by constant threat, Sophie was actually a sweet and talkative girl. Beth was pretty sure that Carl, Tara and maybe a few others found her to be pretty obnoxious. She asked a lot of questions and interrupted the answers, but it was clear that Tyreese and Carol had adopted her. She was part of their group now.

For two days, Daryl had been pretty quiet, but one thing she had managed to get out of him was that he thought Sophie would be good for Carol. "She needs someone to show her how to be." She could have asked him, but instead Beth had thought about every possible meaning of that statement, until she couldn't think anymore; too tired and drained she'd drifted into real sleep, not induced by drugs or her brain just shutting off and deciding it was done with consciousness, but real rest that helped her body wake up a little stronger.

She climbed down out of the jeep after Rick and Carl, watching them for a moment and wondering, not for the first time in the last few days, what precisely had passed between the two groups before they parted ways. Rick and the others hadn't been very far behind them. It seemed like they'd simply made sure that the girls were in good (or at least not cannibalistic hands) with Father Gabriel, Randall and Brock as the new leaders of what would never be called Terminus again.

In the dark of midnight, no one dared wander too far from the jeep. Beth stretched her legs, holding onto Daryl's hand and dragging him along.

"How're you feelin'?"

She nodded, "I'm okay. How about you?"

"Who the hell cares?" grumbled Daryl.

"I do," she reminded him.

He spared her a glance, but couldn't seem to meet her eyes. "Just worried 'bout you."

When Daryl pulled Franco off her and soundly beat him into the ground in a matter of seconds, she couldn't pick an emotion. She was relieved that she was saved, terrified that she might already be dead, that she'd left her body and was just watching Daryl act as an avenging angel. She'd been scared that Franco might get the upper-hand, or that a stray bullet might end everything. She'd been upset by the rage in Daryl's face; the murderous spirit that shown out of him like an inner fire. During Franco's last seconds she'd been hurled through an eternity of possible ruin.

Trials were a part of life, but this one had almost finished both of them. That thought still ate at her. What could have happened haunted her, until now. Two days later, she was starting to give credit to the precious things, and the peace in the chaos. "I had a dream," she realized too late that she'd let the silence last too long.

His face was already twisted in concern. "Nightmare?"

"No," she said quickly, touching his cheek to brush aside a smudge of dust from the road. "It was a dream. I saw a little boy with messy brown hair and blue eyes… Could've been you as a toddler. He was all unsteady, tryin' to run to me on legs that barely knew how to walk. I bent down and scooped him up with my arm and held him right close to me. He was so warm and perfect. It wasn't hard at all to hold him, even without lefty." She smiled. "I could carry him with one arm."

Finally, he was looking into her face. She could still see the shame in his sad blue eyes, but there was a spark of light. "'Corse you could," he murmured, "You got this, Greene. You're gettin' stronger every day."

Her heart sank as his gaze dropped away from her again. "Hey, look at me," she tipped his face up, sliding her thumb along his jaw and feeling his steady pulse under her hand, "You gotta tell me what's wrong. I'm scared," she said simply. "We're alright? Aren't we alright?"

"You're what you've always been. Me too, I guess. I'm a piece of shit."

She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest but he wasn't done talking.

He grumbled, "I let it happen. I couldn't keep you safe."

"You didn't let nothin' happen. It just happened," she argued, letting her voice get fierce for just an instant before she softened, "And you _did_ protect me."

"Too late," he shook his head.

"I'm not talking about when you came flyin' in like Superman and ground Franco into the dirt—that was great, but I mean before that," she glanced down at her arm. "All this time, you've been protecting me. My dad. Rick. You. Maybe you didn't realize that any of it stuck. Remember, Mr. Dixon—I was with my dad every day after he lost his leg. I helped him go through _that_. I watched him and I learned every day."

The smallest, sorrowful smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, mostly hidden but the hairs of his goatee, but she caught it before it flickered away, "Tough as nails, your old man."

"And your brother—I met him. I heard his story from Glenn and then from you. I saw what he did when life took a part of him away." She touched Daryl's lips gently, trying to bring his eyes back up to meet hers, when it worked, she smiled. "And you—you taught me how to fight. You taught me to survive… Remember when I said how I wished I'd never left you, and you said that I didn't? That I was still with you the whole time?" She pressed her hand against his chest. Chewing on her lip for a moment she only managed to mouth the words _'in here'_ and swallowed, "Well, you never stopped protectin' me. I had your help and your strength. I wasn't alone." She took his arm away from his side and brought it up, so that her heart was inside the hollow of his hand. "If I didn't have you, I couldn't've gotten through it."

Warm and steady, his strong hand worked its way up to her neck, cupping the back of her head. He didn't have the words to reply, but he didn't need them. It was all the reassurance that she needed to just drink in the way that he looked at her. They were a lot better than alright.

"Hey kids, sorry to interrupt," Tara appeared beside them with a fussy Judith wriggling in her arms, the look on her face suggested that she felt just as awkward as she should to walk up to them when they were just staring at each other like idiots. "I think she misses you, but I'm not sure if—" she wore an apologetic grimace as she cocked her head at Beth's injury.

"Let me try," Beth reached out and wrapped Judith up around the waist, steadying the almost-toddler against her hip with Tara's hands still protectively keeping contact with the baby.

"Hey!" Tara's face broke into a smile, "Not even an issue! Pound it," she held out her fist a blush rising to her cheeks, but her smile just got wider as Beth raised her stump and gently bumped it against Tara's knuckles. "That'll have to be our thing."

Judith did seem more content, now that Beth was holding onto her. "Pretty incredible, aren't I?" Beth shot Daryl a smile.

With one arm across her shoulders he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the head. "Yeah, you are."

"Eugene's working on designs for a prosthetic," said Tara brightly.

Beth raised her eyebrows at that, she'd noticed him scribbling in a notebook all that afternoon, but hadn't been in any position to see what he was drawing. "How's it look?"

"Bizarre, to be honest. You're basically going to be a robot."

Fighting a smile, Beth quietly admitted to herself that it was touching.

"He thinks he can find what he needs in DC," Tara nodded, then shot Judith a smile.

"I keep forgetting to ask," Beth blushed, embarrassed that she'd waited so long, "Why are we even going to DC?" she whispered.

Daryl snorted, stifling laughter. He hid his face in her hair.

Tara's grin broadened. "We're going to save the world."

"Oh."

Abraham was calling for everyone to make their way back. DC was a still a long way's off. If anyone was going to save the world, it should definitely be them.

"We're the right people for the job," Tara agreed with Beth's unuttered though, nodding with an air of perfect self-confidence.

With a few groans and mild protests everyone made their way back. Tara ran to the jeep and was the first one to claim her favorite spot in the back. Beth watched Carol helping Sophie up. Tyreese and Sasha lingered behind them, Sasha leaned her head against her brother's arm, briefly giving away how tired she was. Rick and Michonne were both looking at Carl from opposite sides of the jeep. Bob was playing referee between Eugene and Rosita, who were arguing over whose turn it was to drive. At the back of all of it, Maggie and Glenn were wrapped around one another, speaking with their heads close. Glenn had a smile on his face, a big genuine smile just for his wife that she couldn't help but return. He still looked tired and sick, but in that moment, Beth knew he'd be alright.

At least for now, they were all better than alright.

Daryl stood a little taller than when he'd first stumbled out of the jeep. His gaze was no longer fixed on the dirt. In fact, he was looking at her in the face again, like he never planned to look away again. He took the baby from her so she could climb back into the jeep.

They were back on the road with headlights bright in a matter of seconds.

After letting Carl take his little sister, Daryl resumed his place in the little nest that they had carved out for themselves amidst the collection of weapons, ammunition, food, medical supplies and other survivors. Beth settled in with him, scooting between his legs so she could lean back against his chest.

It was never going to be easy for them, but in a moment of clarity, with Daryl's chin resting against her shoulder and his arms pulling ever tighter around her, Beth knew for certain that she didn't want easy.

He turned her head and slowly pressed his lips into hers, not with the kind of passion that she'd become accustomed to, but rather with an assurance of intimacy that she'd never sensed in him before. They were still in such early days. She hoped they would have so many more.

As difficult as her life was, it made the good things all the sweeter. Everything that she loved was worth all the more to her, because she had to fight for it, every day.

And she would never fight alone.

The End

* * *

**Just this once... EVERYBODY LIVES!**

**So, I didn't kill anyone, but I did sever an arm and Glenn can at least be counted as half-dead. I'm sorry, but I'm also not sorry at all. I worked through some rough feelings I was having, stuff that made me terrified for season five, and it spilled all over the page. Self-indulgent or therapeutic? I don't know, but it happened, and it's fanfiction, and that's part of the point is to be self-indulgent and therapeutic, I believe...**

**The main point though, is fun:) So I hope you guys enjoyed this piece. I had a lot of fun writing it and it was excellent hearing your feedback and talking with some of you about the show. Really, I cannot possibly thank you enough for your support and kinds words.**

**Peace and Love, Al**

**Against The Grain – City and Colour**


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